My mother was white as death, and trembling so that the candle in her hand shook to and fro, casting wild dancing shadows on the wall behind.
"Oh, Jasper, listen, listen!" I listened, but could hear nothing save the splashing of spray and rain upon my window, and above it the voice of the storm; now moaning as a creature in pain, now rising and growing into an angry roar whereat the whole house from chimney to base shook and shuddered, and anon sinking slowly with loud sobbings and sighings as though the anguish of a million tortured souls were borne down the blast.
"Mother, I hear nothing but the storm." "Nothing but the storm! Oh, Jasper, are you sure you hear nothing but the storm ?" "Nothing else, mother, though that is bad enough." She seemed relieved a little, but still trembled sadly, and caught her breath with every fresh roar.

The tempest had gathered fury, and was now raging as though Judgment Day were come, and earth about to be blotted out.

For some minutes we listened almost motionless, but heard nothing save the furious elements; and, indeed, it was hard to believe that any sound on earth could be audible above such a din.
At last I turned to my mother and said-- "Mother dear, it is nothing but the storm.

You were thinking of father, and that made you nervous.

Go back to bed--it is so cold here--and try to go to sleep.