I got down on my knees before the fire to puff and blow into its black sodden heart. For all my breath and all the ashes that blew out into my face the sticks would not take.

Terry began to put on her clothes with the most sober expression.

‘Let me do it,’ she said, gently pushing me aside. I stood up to watch her. She whittled slivers of fir from a root and laid them in the fireplace and poured a little pike-oil on them. In a moment a tongue of flame came licking up, and as it grew she added splinters of wood until it was bright and strong. I bent down beside her to heap on roots. When the wet skin of the sticks dried they caught fire suddenly, and went up in a blaze which filled the chimney and lighted the cave to its farthest corner.

‘Now, Hugh,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry I was cross—’ I began in conscience-stricken tones; ‘you mustn’t pay any attention to me.’

‘But really, Hugh,’ she expostulated, ‘you can scarcely expect me to ignore you when you make such a loud noise.’

‘Was I making an awful noise?’ I murmured.

‘You’re very violent, my dear,’ she continued.

‘You mustn’t heed me—’ I began, and hesitated. ‘I was going to give you a cup of tea in bed,’ I said discontentedly.

‘Run and look at the weather and then we’ll have a cup by the fire instead,’ she encouraged me.

I went slowly to the door.

‘Terry!’ I cried when I looked outside. ‘Terry, the sun!’

She came running, half-clad as she was, to view the break in the mist through which the effulgent sun showed momentarily. We gazed at each other and laughed with delight and going outside we capered crazily amongst wet heather and slippery rocks until we were breathless. The cave and a few yards around lay in a pool of sunlight, but everywhere else there was thick mist. Our narrow corner, islanded in mist and that strange silence of a misty day, grew warm. Though many burns made a sound the world was silent.

‘We’ll have our breakfast outside,’ I declared. ‘As sure as death I thought the sun was gone away for good and all. Harken, did you hear a grouse?’

‘Och, leave it in peace,’ she said, arresting me with her hand. ‘We don’t need meat at the moment, Hugh. I wouldn’t like to shoot it—it’s like an envoy—a harbinger—’

‘Of better days?’

‘And better temper.’