A strange idea seized me; a person must have felt all the agonies of doubt concerning the life and death of one who is the whole world to them before they can enter into my feelings--for in that state, the mind working unrestrained by the will makes strange and fanciful combinations with outward circumstances and weaves the chances and changes of nature into an immediate connexion with the event they dread.

It was with this feeling that I turned to the old Steward who stood pale and trembling beside me; "Mark, Gaspar, if the next flash of lightning rend not that oak my father will be alive." I had scarcely uttered these words than a flash instantly followed by a tremendous peal of thunder descended on it; and when my eyes recovered their sight after the dazzling light, the oak no longer stood in the meadow--The old man uttered a wild exclamation of horror when he saw so sudden an interpretation given to my prophesy.

I started up, my strength returned; [_sic_] with my terror; I cried, "Oh, God! Is this thy decree?
Yet perhaps I shall not be too late." Although still several miles distant we continued to approach the sea.
We came at last to the road that led to the town of----and at an inn there we heard that my father had passed by somewhat before sunset; he had observed the approaching storm and had hired a horse for the next town which was situated a mile from the sea that he might arrive there before it should commence: this town was five miles off.

We hired a chaise here, and with four horses drove with speed through the storm.
My garments were wet and clung around me, and my hair hung in straight locks on my neck when not blown aside by the wind.

I shivered, yet my pulse was high with fever.