And then after a long while she fell asleep again and once more dreamed.
The wind soughed through her dream again, pitifully, wailingly, as it had often soughed outside the dugout. Presently it dropped to a whisper and the passing gleam of clouds let in a slab of sunlight through the window.
Was Seth in the dugout then, or in that other room?
Whichever it was, the sunlight rested goldenly on the calmness of his face. It glorified it.
In her dream, Cyclona looked long and lovingly at the strong, fine lines of it brought out by this unexpected high light of the skies, accentuated Rembrandt-like against the darkness of the hole in the ground.
Yes. It was in the hole in the ground and not that other room of the Beautiful House.
As she looked the calm dream face of Seth turned to her with a smile of ineffable content.
On the following day Hugh said to her:
"Now that the beautiful house is finished, be mine. Be mine!"
She shook her head and looked at him with eyes that turned the heart of him cold. The pupils that had once been large and full and black had shrunk to the size of pin heads.