They were still two hundred paces from home and a gust of wind had already blown up, and every second the downpour might be looked for.

The children ran ahead with frightened and gleeful shrieks.

Darya Alexandrovna, struggling painfully with her skirts that clung round her legs, was not walking, but running, her eyes fixed on the children.

The men of the party, holding their hats on, strode with long steps beside her.

They were just at the steps when a big drop fell splashing on the edge of the iron guttering.