Rain billows against the window, a solid sheet of water out of the dark. Cosette tucks herself up in the window seat, staring out into the storm. She has always been afraid of the dark, but the steady noise of the downpour and the firelight at her back reduce the fear to a pleasurable thrill. She might be a sailor at sea, an adventurer in India, a bird tucked safe in its nest in the swaying treetops.

Tomorrow the garden will be spangled with raindrops. There will be earthworms and snails prowling in the shade, gleaming in the sun; the air will be heavy and cool, sweet with the smell of wet earth and leaves. She will gather the late violets with the dew still on their petals, and bring them into the house and out the back door to her father, to make him smile.