The uproar of the elements seems at its height.

Now she awakens--that beautiful girl on the antique bed; she opens those eyes of celestial blue, and a faint cry of alarm bursts from her lips.

At least it is a cry which, amid the noise and turmoil without, sounds but faint and weak.

She sits upon the bed and presses her hands upon her eyes.

Heavens! what a wild torrent of wind, and rain, and hail! The thunder likewise seems intent upon awakening sufficient echoes to last until the next flash of forked lightning should again produce the wild concussion of the air.