Then he heard rapid steps. Burt at last had
been aroused from the slumber of youth, and, fortunately for his peace,
rushed first into his mother's room. Webb thought Amy had fainted, and he
laid her gently on the lounge. "Don't leave me," she gasped, faintly.
"Amy," he said, earnestly, "I assure you that all danger is now over. As
I told you once before, the centre of the storm has passed. You know I
never deceived you."
Maggie and Burt now came running in, and Webb said, "Amy has had a faint
turn. I will get her a glass of water."
This revived her speedily, but the truth of Webb's words proved more
efficacious. The gale was sweeping the storm from the sky. The swish of
the torrents mattered little, for the thunder-peals died away steadily to
the eastward. Amy made a great effort to rally, for she felt ashamed of
her weakness, and feared that the others would not interpret her as
charitably as Webb had done. In a few minutes he smilingly withdrew, and
went out on the rear porch with Leonard, whence they anxiously scanned
the barn and out-buildings. These were evidently safe, wherever the bolt
had fallen, and it must have struck near. In half an hour there was a
line of stars along the western horizon, and soon the repose within the
old house was as deep as that of nature without.
Webb only was sleepless. He sat at his open window, and saw the clouds
roll away. But he felt that a cloud deeper and murkier than any that had
ever blackened the sky hung over his life.
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