CHAPTER 18.
THE FARM-HOUSE.
As the night still advanced, so did the storm increase.

On the plains in the open country its violence was most apparent.

Here no living voices jarred with the dreary music of the elements; no flaming torches opposed the murky darkness or imitated the glaring lightning.

The thunder pursued uninterruptedly its tempest symphony, and the fierce wind joined it, swelling into wild harmony when it rushed through the trees, as if in their waving branches it struck the chords of a mighty harp.
In the small chamber of the farm-house sat together Hermanric and Antonina, listening in speechless attention to the increasing tumult of the storm.
The room and its occupants were imperfectly illuminated by the flame of a smouldering wood fire.

The little earthenware lamp hung from its usual place in the ceiling, but its oil was exhausted and its light was extinct.