"Shall I read to you?" he asked. "I am running over
Hawthorne's 'English Note-Books' again."
"Yes," she said, in a low voice; and she sat down with her back to the
windows, through which shone momentarily the glare of the coming tempest.
He had not read a page before a long, sullen peal rolled across the
entire arc of the sky. "Webb," faltered Amy, and she rose and took an
irresolute step toward him.
His pre-occupation was instantly gone. Never had he heard sweeter music
than that low appeal, to which the deep echoes in the mountains formed a
strange accompaniment. He stepped to her side, took her hand, and found
it cold and trembling. Drawing her within the radiance of the lamp, he
saw how pale she was, and that her eyes were dilated with nervous dread.
"Webb," she began again, "do you--do you think there is danger?"
"No, Amy," he said, gently; "there is no danger for you in God's
universe."
"Oh, that frightful glare!" and she buried her face on his shoulder.
"Webb," she whispered, "won't you stay up till the storm is over? And you
won't think me weak or silly either, will you? Indeed, I can't help it. I
wish I had a little of your courage and strength."
"I like you best as you are," he said; "and all my strength is yours when
you need it. I understand you, Amy, and well know you cannot help this
nervous dread. I saw how these electrical storms affected you last
February, and such experiences are not rare with finely organized
natures.
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