"I didn't know you were afraid of thunder and lightning, Mrs. Randal," said the girl, as they sat together in the unnatural darkness, when the vivid flashes had become less constant, and the rushing rain was almost loud enough to drown the more distant thunder.
"Ah! 'tisn't exactly the thunder and lightning I'm afraid of, Polly," said John's mother, putting her hand to her head, and looking nervously round the low room; "it's only the thought of John's being out in it. Some of the flashes were so near, I think thunderbolts must have fallen."
"He's taken shelter in Carsham, I expect. That's why he isn't here now."
"I don't think so—no, he wouldn't do that. He'd make the best of his way home. Let's see—if he'd stayed to tea with Mr. Bland——"
These calculations took some time, as neither of them knew much about the road or the distances.
Presently the rain stopped, the evening light began to shine, and Mary, by way of cheering her companion and making the time seem shorter, persuaded her to come into the garden and look at the flowers. It was wonderful how John's beautiful row of lilies had stood through the storm. Their scent and that of the other flowers made the air breathe perfume.
Mrs. Randal and Mary rejoiced over the lilies. Presently Mary began to say in a doubtful tone, lifting her grey eyes a little wistfully, that she supposed she ought to go home.
"Nay, Polly, stop along with me till my boy comes," said Mrs. Randal. "I don't know how it is, I've a queer feeling as if something was going to happen. My dear, if there's trouble hanging over me, I'd sooner have you here than anybody else, you know."
"What can be going to happen? You shouldn't go fancying things," said the girl, a little roughly. "John's late, to be sure, but he's stopped at Carsham through the storm, and a good thing too."
She said nothing more, however, about going home. As the damp twilight fell they went back into the house, and sat there listening to every sound, till just as darkness had fallen they heard John's step in the road, and then heard him open the gate in a rather slow and fumbling fashion. The door was open, and his mother hurried out to meet him, while Mary stood still in the middle of the kitchen.