Next came the moan of the wind down the valley that opens on the gate called the Bab el Marsa, and along the river that flows to the port.

Then came the roll of thunder, like a million cannons, down the gorges of the Reef mountains and across the plain that stretches far away to Kitan.

Last of all, the black clouds of the sky emptied themselves over the town, and the rain fell in floods on the roof of the house and on the pavement of the patio, and leapt up again in great loud drops, making a noise to the ear like to the tramp, tramp, tramp of a hidden multitude.

Thus sound after sound broke over the darkness of the night in a thousand awful voices, now near, now far, now loud, now low, now long, now short, now rising, now falling, now rushing, now running--a mighty tumult and a fearsome anarchy.
At last Naomi's terror was redoubled.

Every sound seemed to smite her body as a blow.