Its pale beams lit upon two outstretched forms--one lying on its back, its distorted features gazing up to heaven, the other on its face.

By them, the legs of the nearer sticking straight into the air, lay the horses.

They had all gone to their account.

The lightning had killed them, as it kills many a man in Africa.
Frank Muller looked; then, forgetting about the warrant and everything else in the horror of what he took to be a visible judgment, he rushed to his horse and galloped wildly away, pursued by all the terrors of hell..