[244]
]“Yes, Frank! but your prayers are not solitary, for ours are joined to yours,” added Laura. “I read in an old author lately, that Christian friends in this world might be compared to travellers going along the same road in separate carriages—sometimes they are together—often they are apart—sometimes they can exchange assistance, as we do now—and often they jostle against each other, till at last, having reached the journey’s end, they are removed out of these earthly vehicles into a better state, where they shall look back upon former circumstances, and know even as they are known.”

Laura was often astonished to observe the change which had taken place in her own character and feelings within the very short period of their distress. Her extreme terror of a thunder-storm formerly, had occasioned many a jest to her brothers, when Harry used, occasionally, to roll heavy weights in the room above her own, to imitate the loudest peals, while Frank sometimes endeavoured to argue her out of that excessive apprehension with which she listened to the most distant surmise of a storm. Now, however, at Hammersmith, long after midnight, the moon, on one occasion, became completely obscured by dense heavy clouds, and the air felt so oppressively hot, that Frank, who seemed unusually breathless, drew closer to the window. Laura supported his head, and was deeply occupied in talking to him, when suddenly a broad flash of lightning glared into the room, followed by a crash of thunder, that seemed to crack the very heavens. Again and again the lightning gleamed in her face with such vividness, that Laura fancied she could distinguish the heat of it, and yet she stirred not, nor did a single exclamation, as in former days, arise on her lips.

“Pray shut the window, Laura,” said Frank languidly, raising his eyes; “and be so kind as to close the shutters!”

[245]
]“Why, Frank?—you never used to be alarmed by thunder!”

“No!

nor am I now, dear Laura. What danger need a dying person fear? Some few hours sooner or later would be of little consequence—

Come he slow, or come he fast,

It is but death that comes at last.

Yet, Laura, do you think I have forgotten old times! Oh, no!—not while I live. You attend to my feelings, and surely it is my duty to remember yours.”

“Never mind me, Frank!” whispered Laura. “I have got over all that folly. When real fears and sorrows come, we care no more about those that were imaginary.”