“I don’t seem to like starting in the face of this,” said Warren. “It’s coming up and we shall get it thick about half way.”
“Then don’t start,” said Lalanté decisively. “We can easily put you up. Ah—look!”
A succession of vivid flashes lit up the gloomy murk in the distance, followed immediately by a heavy, detonating roar.
“I believe you’re right,” said Warren, meditatively. “By Jove, it’s coming on at express pace—right for us, too.”
“One thing is certain,” pronounced Lalanté, not even trying to suppress the jubilant ring in her voice, “and that is that you two can’t possibly go: back to-night. It isn’t safe. Look how the storm is working up, right across your road too. No, you can’t. Now, can you, Mr Warren?”
“I’m in Wyvern’s hands,” answered Warren with a laugh, “and he, I suspect, is in yours.”
“Very well. That settles it. Come. We’ll go round and tell them not to bother about getting up the horses, for you’re both going to stop the night. I’m horribly afraid of lightning—for other people.”
The livid, inky cloud was slowly and surely advancing, and as she had said, it was right across the road back to Seven Kloofs. As the two went forth a distant but heavy boom rolled dully to their ears.
“For other people?” repeated Warren significantly. “And for yourself? You are never afraid?”
“No, I don’t believe I am.”