“No, I managed to dodge them, and I didn’t go very far. I see you have had an accident here. We must stop up that window; the rain is pouring in.”
“Yes.” Lettice looked down, and the color which had left her cheeks came slowly back again.
“Miss Lettice narrowly escaped being struck by lightning,” Mr. Baldwin said unsteadily. “She was sitting near the window when that tree there was struck, and she was stunned. A heavy branch torn from the tree did the damage to the window.”
“And you were not hurt, Lettice? You are sure?” Her brother looked alarmed.
“No, I think not. I felt dazed, and my head still feels queer, but I was only a little stunned, I think. I am beginning to feel all right again.”
“The wind is dying down, though it is still raining hard. I think the worst of the storm is over.”
The rain continued for the rest of the day, but evening brought the tramp, tramp, of retreating feet. Orders had been given that no inhabitants should appear in the streets after eight o’clock; this that the enemy might escape unnoticed. The city, devastated as it was, received final destructive touches from the outgoing enemy, who set fire to every important building still unharmed, as the retreat was being made. The departure of the foe seemed also to be the signal for the cessation of the tempest, for the setting sun shone forth, and the mutterings of thunder died away with the echoing tread of marching feet.
“Free, at last!” cried Lettice, when it became known that the redcoats had really gone.
“Yes, but not safe. We’re not out of the woods yet,” her brother told her. “Every man of us must fight those fires, or the little that’s left will go. Run in and stay with the Ingles, Lettice. Mr. Baldwin and I must go.”
“Oh, but—but he is not well enough.”