It was the one aspect of Nature with which she was out of harmony.

When thunder rolled and lightning quivered, her vitality seemed to desert her and she experienced what in her came nearest to fear.
"Ah! someone has angered God greatly," she whispered aloud; and then she carried the head to the secret door, knowing full well she would be unwatched in her entry there--on such a day, with thunder pealing, not a servant would have ventured into the long gallery.
Another and louder rumble reached her with muffled sound, as she made her way in the dark underground, and as she came to the place where there was the contrived gleam of light and outer air, the lightning turned the narrow space into a green dusk.
Halcyone was trembling all over, and when she had put her precious bundle safely into the bag with the rest of her simple preparations, she laid it on the iron-bound box which had never been stirred, all ready for her to lift up and take with her in the morning.

Then she ran back, cold and pale, and hastily sought Priscilla in her own room, and talked long to her of old days, glad indeed to hear a human voice, until presently the rain began to pour in torrents and the storm cried itself out.
But with each crash before this came her heart gave a bound, as if in pain.

And a wild longing grew in her for the morrow and safety in her lover's arms.
And he--alas! that hapless lover!--was lying there in the haw-haw, with broken ankle and damaged head, half recovering consciousness in the pouring rain, but unable to stir or climb from his low bed, or even to cry aloud enough to make anyone hear him.

And so at last the night came, and the pure moonlight, and when her usual evening duties were over with her aunts, Halcyone was free to go to bed.
She opened her window wide, but she did not seek to wander in the wet park.