"But how could you know?" he whispered quickly. "My heart was too full—to take a mere mountain seriously—until the last minute——"
"Skylarks—always—know!"
Torrents of rain were descending. Pelée roared with the after-pangs. Though cooled and replenished by floods of black rain, the rising water in the cistern was still hot.
"It was always hard for me to call you Wyndam——"
"Harder to hear, Quentin Charter...."
"But are you sure you are not badly burned?" he asked for the tenth time.
"I don't feel badly burned.... I was watching for you from the window in my room. I didn't like the way my hair looked, and was changing it when I saw you coming—and the Black behind you. I tried to fasten it with one pin, as I ran downstairs.... It fell. It is very thick and kept the fire from me——"
"From us." He would have preferred his share of the red dust.
She shivered contentedly. "What little is burned will grow again. Red mops invariably do."