only a few inches from the drum of my ear, yet the din of
the rain on the roof was such that the effect was not unpleasant--at all
events, it was a welcome relief from the frightful strains on the
olfactory organ. The man, I say, was a good player, and I remember
wishing, as I listened to him, that there was anything in life that I
could do half as well.

As he finished one of his selections, the gloom deepened, it became
almost as dark as night, the rain ceased for a moment, and there was
silence; and then there shot in upon us a blast of fire and a bolt of
thunder, so near and so overwhelming that I verily believe it was a
narrow escape from death.

"That's something to put the fear of God into a man," said Macbeth, as
the volley rolled into distance. "My crikey! But I've heard say, mister,
that the thunder is the voice of the wrath of God."

"I'm sure it is," I replied.

"Sounds like it anyhow. I wonder if that there chap with the cart has
got the young woman under cover. She'll be scared out of her life. Eh,
but isn't it dark? It might be half-past ten. Here, matey"--to
Banquo--"let's have something in keepin' loike. Give us 'Lead, Kindly
Light,' lad, on t' cornet, and I'll sing the bass. I want t' gentleman
to hear my voice."

The hymn was sung in a voice as good as some that have made great
fortunes, but with a depth of emotion which occasionally spoilt the
notes; and I can say little more than that the singing, in that strange
setting, with muttering thunder for an undertone, was a thing I shall
not forget.

"Do you know anything about that hymn?" said Macbeth (the tears made
watercourses down his dirty face) when it was over.

"Yes," I said, "a little."

"But I know _all_ about it," replied Macbeth. "Him as wrote that hymn
was Cardinal Newman. They say he wrote it at sea, maybe he wrote it in a
storm--like this. He was a Protestant, and was just turning into a
Catholic. Didn't know whether he would or whether he wouldn't, loike.
That's what he means when he says, 'Lead, Kindly Light.' He was i' th'
dark, and wanted lightin'. It was _all_ dark, don't you see, just loike
it is naow."

Some minutes elapsed, during which neither Banquo nor I said a word. I
stole a glance at the "'ole under his eye," and saw that it was no
laughing matter to "get a sock in the face from a shell." The human
profile, on that side, had virtually disappeared; jaw and cheek-bone
were smashed in; there was neither nostril nor e