Part 13 (1/2)

”There is going to be a terrible shower,” said some one, and before the sentence was ended, there was a vivid flash of lightning that made the candles pale.

”How rapidly it has come up,” said Sophie. ”Was the sky black when you came in, Richard?”

”I do not know,” said Richard, and n.o.body doubted that he told the truth.

”It had begun to darken before we came up from the river.” said Charlotte Benson. ”The clouds were rising rapidly as we came in. It will be a fearful tempest.”

”Are the windows all shut?” said Sophie to the servant.

”I should think so,” exclaimed Kilian. ”The heat is horrid.”

”Yes, it is suffocating,” said Richard, getting up.

As he went out of the dining-room, some one, I think Henrietta, said, ”Well, I hope Mr. Langenau will get in safely; he was out on the river when we were on the hill.”

The storm was so sudden and so furious that everybody was concerned at hearing this; even Kilian made some exclamation of alarm.

”Does he know anything about a boat?” he asked of Richard, who had paused in the doorway, hearing what was said.

”I have no idea,” said Richard, shortly, but he did not go away.

”It isn't the sail-boat that he has, of course,” said Kilian, thoughtfully. ”He always goes out to row, I believe.”

”Why, no,” said Charlotte Benson, ”he's in the sail-boat; don't you remember saying, Henrietta, how bright the gleam of the sunset was on the sail, and all the water was so dark?”

Kilian came to his feet very suddenly at these words.

”That's a bad business,” he said quickly to his brother. ”I've no idea he can manage her in such a squall.”

Sophie gave a little scream, and Charlotte and Henrietta both grew very pale, as a frightful shock of thunder followed. The wind was furious, and the unfastened shutters in various parts of the house sounded like so many reports of pistols, and in an instant the whole force of the rain fell suddenly and at once upon the windows. Somewhere some gla.s.s was shattered, and all these sounds added to the sense of danger, and the darkness was so great and so sudden, that it was difficult to realize that half an hour before, the sunset could have whitened the sails of a boat upon the river.

”I'm afraid it's too late to do much now,” said Kilian, stopping in front of his brother in the doorway.

”What's the use of talking in that way,” returned Richard in a hoa.r.s.e, low voice. ”If you hav'nt more sense than to talk so before women, you can stay at home with them,” he continued, striding across the hall, and picking up a lantern that stood in a corner near the door. Charlotte Benson caught up one of the candles from the table, and ran to him and lit the lamp within the lantern. Sophie threw a cloak over Kilian's shoulders, and Henrietta flew to carry a message to the kitchen. Richard pulled a bell that was a signal to the stable (the stable was very near the house), and in almost a moment's time two men, beside Kilian, were following him out into the tempest. We saw their lanterns flicker for an instant, and then they were swallowed up in the darkness. The fury of the storm increased every moment. The flashes of lightning were but a few seconds apart, and the roll of thunder was incessant. Every few moments, above this continued roar, would come an appalling crash which sounded just above our heads. The children were screaming with fear, the servants had come into the hall and seemed in a helpless sort of panic.

Sophie was very pale and Mary Leighton clung hysterically to her.

Charlotte Benson was the only one who seemed to be self-possessed enough to have done anything, if there had been anything to do. But there was not. All we could do was to try to behave ourselves with fort.i.tude in view of the personal danger, and with composure in view of that of others. Presently there came a lull in the tempest, and we began to breathe freer; some one went to the door and opened it. A gust of cold wind swept through the hall and put out the lamp, at which the children and Mary Leighton renewed their cries of fright.

The respite in the tempest was but temporary; before the lamp was relit and order restored, the storm had burst again upon us. This was, if anything, fiercer, but shorter lived. After fifteen or twenty minutes'

rage, it subsided almost utterly, and we could hear it taking itself off across the heavens. I suppose the whole storm, from its beginning to its end, had not occupied more than three quarters of an hour, but it had seemed much longer.

We were very glad to open the door and let the cool, damp air into the hall. The children were taken up-stairs, consoled with the promise that word should be sent to them when their uncles should return. The servants went feebly off to their domain; one was sent to sweep the piazza, for the rain had beaten in such torrents upon it that it was impossible to walk there, till it should be brushed away. Wrapped in their shawls, Henrietta and Charlotte Benson walked up and down the s.p.a.ce that the servant swept, and watched and listened for a long half-hour. I took a cloak from the rack and, leaning against the door-post, stood and listened silently.

From the direction of the river there was nothing to be heard. There was still distant thunder, but that was the only sound, that and the dripping of the rain off the leaves of the drenched trees. The wind was almost silent, and in the s.p.a.ces of the broken clouds there were occasional faint stars. A fine, young tree, uprooted by the tempest, lay across the carriage-way before the house, its topmost branches resting on the steps of the piazza: the gra.s.s was strewed with leaves like autumn, and the paths were simply pools of water. Sophie, more than once, came to the door, and begged us to come in, for fear of the dampness and the cold, but no one heeded her suggestion. Even she herself came out very often, and looked and listened anxiously. Finally my ear caught a sound: I ran down the steps, and bent forward eagerly.

There was some one coming along the garden-path that led up from the river. I could hear the water plas.h.i.+ng as he walked, and he was coming rapidly. In a moment the others heard it too, and starting to the steps, stood still, and waited breathlessly. He had no lantern, for we could have seen that; he was almost at the steps before I could recognize him.

It was Richard. I gave a smothered cry, and springing forward, held out my hands to stop him.

”Tell me what has happened.” He put aside my hands, and went past me without a second look.

”There has nothing happened, but what he can tell you when he comes,”