The awful grandeur of the cloud scenery at last so oppressed Amy that she
sought relief in Maggie's lighted room. As we have already seen, her
sensitive organization was peculiarly affected by an atmosphere highly
charged with electricity. She was not re-assured, for Leonard inadvertently
remarked that it would take "a rousing old-fashioned storm to cool and
clear the air."
"Why, Amy," exclaimed Maggie, "how pale you are! and your eyes shine as
if some of the lightning had got into them."
"I wish it was morning," said the girl. "Such a sight oppresses me like a
great foreboding of evil;" and, with a restlessness she could not
control, she went down to Mrs. Clifford's room. She found Mr. Clifford
fanning the invalid, who was almost faint from the heat. Amy took his
place, and soon had the pleasure of seeing her charge drop off into quiet
slumber. As Mr. Clifford was very weary also, Amy left them to their
rest, and went to the sitting-room, where Webb was reading. Burt had
fallen asleep on the lounge in the hall. Leonard's prediction promised to
come true. The thunder muttered nearer and nearer, but it was a sullen,
slow, remorseless approach through the absolute silence and darkness
without, and therefore was tenfold more trying to one nervously
apprehensive than a swift, gusty storm would have been in broad day.
Webb looked up and greeted her with a smile. His lamp was shaded, and the
room shadowy, so that he did not note that Amy was troubled and
depressed.
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