Another crash drowned the laugh that followed, and upon the ensuing silence, a strange hollow roar was audible.
“The river’s down, by Jove!” growled Falkner.
“No. It isn’t the river. It’s a tremendously heavy rain shower,” I said, listening.
“Let’s go outside and see what it looks like,” he went on pushing back his chair.
We had done dinner, and this proposal seemed to find favour, for a move was made accordingly. We went out we four, for Mrs Sewin was afraid to stir and the Major remained in with her. Nearer and nearer the roar of the rain cloud approached, though as yet not a drop had fallen over us. Again the blue lightning leaped forth, simultaneously with another appalling crash, cutting short a wrangle which had got up between Falkner and Edith Sewin, and ending it in a little squeal on the part of the latter. But already I had seized my opportunity, under cover of the racket.
“That question I was asking you to-day when we were interrupted,” I whispered to my companion. “It was not answered.”
Then came the flash. In the blue gleam, bright as noon-day, I could see the beautiful, clear cut face turned upwards, as though watching the effect, with calm serenity. Through the thunder roar that followed I could still catch the words.
“The answer is—Yes. Will that satisfy you?”
And a hand found mine in a momentary pressure.
Thus amid black darkness and lightning and storm our troth was plighted. An ill omen? I thought not. On the contrary, it seemed appropriate to my case; for in it much of a hard but healthy life had been passed amid rude exposure to the elements, and that I should have secured the happiness—the great happiness—of my life amid the battling forces of the said elements seemed not unfitting.