Towards evening there were signs of rain.

Clouds were rising and then, at least, there would be something new to point at in the eternal monotony of the sky.
Unfortunately clouds have the bad habit of bringing tempests along with them, and tempests are evil travelling companions on the steppes of the _Alfoeld_.[9] The towers of the town they were trying to reach were still only dimly visible on the horizon.

In ordinary weather it would not have mattered if they had arrived late, for they had reckoned upon the moonlight; but there could be no moon to-night, instead of her a storm full of angry lightnings was approaching.

Already from afar they could hear it rumbling as it drove dust-clouds before it, could hear that peculiar, continuous, roar as of some giant hand playing uninterruptedly on the keys of some terrible organ.

Whoever has been caught on the _Alfoeld_ in a storm knows the meaning of that wind; it means that the tempest is bringing hail with it.
[Footnote 9: The great Hungarian plain.] One thing was now certain: they must turn aside somewhere.