re alarmed,
madame," he said quietly, placing a chair in the position he suggested,
which Amy accepted eagerly.

She would, I believe, have gladly taken refuge in the coal-cellar had
he offered it. Zara, in the meantime, who had not heard Mrs. Everard's
exclamation of fear, had drawn up one of the blinds, and stood silently
looking out upon the night. Instinctively we all joined her, with the
exception of Amy, and looked out also. The skies were very dark; a
faint moaning wind stirred the tops of the leafless trees; but there
was no rain. A dry volcanic heat pervaded the atmosphere--in fact we
all felt the air so stifling, that Heliobas threw open the window
altogether, saying, as he did so:

"In a thunderstorm, it is safer to have the windows open than shut;
besides, one cannot suffocate."

A brilliant glare of light flashed suddenly upon our vision. The
heavens seemed torn open from end to end, and a broad lake of pale blue
fire lay quivering in the heart of the mountainous black clouds--for a
second only. An on-rushing, ever-increasing, rattling roar of thunder
ensued, that seemed to shake the very earth, and all was again darkness.

"This is magnificent!" cries Mrs. Challoner, who, with her family, had
travelled a great deal, and was quite accustomed to hurricanes and
other inconveniences caused by the unaccommodating behaviour of the
elements. "I don't think I ever saw anything like it, John dear, even
that storm we saw at Chamounix was not any better than this."

"Well," returned her husband meditatively, "you see we had the snow
mountains there, and the effect was pretty lively. Then there were the
echoes--those cavernous echoes were grand! What was that passage in
Job, Effie, that I used to say they reminded me of?"

"'The pillars of heaven tremble, and are astonished at His reproof ...
The thunder of His power, who can understand?'" replied Effie Challoner
reverently.

"That's it!" he replied. "I opine that Job was pretty correct in his
ideas--don't you, reverend sir?" turning to Father Paul.

The priest nodded, and held up his finger warningly.

"That lady--Mrs. Everard--is going to sing or play, I think," he
observed. "Shall we not keep silence?"

I looked towards Amy in some surprise. I knew she sang very prettily,
but I had thought she was rendered too nervous by the storm to do aught
but sit quiet in her chair. However, there she was at the piano, and in
another moment her fresh, sweet mezzo-so