He took both her
hands in a firm grasp, and said: "Amy, I am not afraid, and you must not
be. You can do much toward self-control. Come," he added, in tones almost
authoritative, "sit here by me, and give me your hand. I shall read to
you in a voice as quiet and steady as you ever heard me use."
She obeyed, and he kept his word. His strong, even grasp reassured her in
a way that excited her wonder, and the nervous paroxysm of fear began to
pass away. While she did not comprehend what he read, his tones and
expression had their influence. His voice, however, was soon drowned by
the howling of the tempest as it rushed upon them. He felt her hand
tremble again, and saw her look apprehensively toward the windows.
"Amy," he said, and in smiling confidence he fixed his eyes on hers and
held them.
The crisis of the storm was indeed terrific. The house rocked in the
furious blasts. The uproar without was frightful, suggesting that the
Evil One was in very truth the "prince of the power of the air," and that
he was abroad with all his legions. Amy trembled violently, but Webb's
hand and eyes held hers. "Courage!" he said, cheerily; "the storm is
passing."
A wan, grateful smile glimmered for a moment on her pale face, and then
her expression passed into one of horror. With a cry that was lost in a
deafening crash, she sprang into his arms. Even Webb was almost stunned
and blinded for a moment.
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