“If that were the rule, which of us would go unpunished?” inquired Miss Conyers.
Again a blaze of lightning, a crash of thunder, a blast of wind and a torrent of rain suspended their conversations. When this burst of the storm was over, Justin said:
“Now, as soon as possible, I want Judith to prepare some gruel, or panado, or broth, or whatever is good for a sick man.”
“Troth, Judith, will set him up with it, and you, too. Divil a bit iv me will stir a fut to go nigh the iron stove in this baste of a storm, for any cause, at all, at all, let alone to make gruel for a murthering divil like that, which same would be a timpting iv Providence,” said Judith, obstinately.
“I will go,” said Miss Conyers, and she arose to leave the room, followed by Justin.
“Och-hone! Ow-oo!” howled Judith, running after them. “Sure will the two iv ye lave me here, to be sthruck down alone wid the lightening, and all for the sake iv a haythen iv a pirate? Faix, if ye must return good for avil to yer enemies, ye needn’t do it by returning avil for good to yer friends, sure.”
Britomarte, unmindful of the storm that must have iron stove, went to work and prepared a bowl of nice hot gruel, which Justin took to the sick man.
After that, Justin, with the help of Judith, moved the sofa from the parlor into his room, for his own accommodation, while the pirate occupied his bed.
And then, though the storm was still raging with tremendous violence, Justin persuaded Britomarte and Judith to retire, assuring them that they would be safer from the lightning in bed than anywhere else.
The storm raged through all the night.