"Do not be alarmed. We are quite safe now. The royal bed-chamber has come to grief, however, I am sorry to say. What a fool I was not to have foreseen all this! The storm has been brewing since midnight," he was saying to her.
"Isn't it awful?" cried Beverly, between a moan a shriek.
"They are trifles after one gets used to them," he said. "I have come to be quite at home in the tempest. There are other things much more annoying, I assure your highness. We shall have lights in a moment." Even as he spoke, two or three lanterns began to flicker feebly.
"Be quiet, Aunt Fanny; you are not killed at all," commanded Beverly, quite firmly.
"De house is suah to blow down. Miss—yo' highness," groaned the trusty maidservant. Beverly laughed bravely but nervously with the tall goat-hunter. He at once set about making his guest comfortable and secure from the effects of the tempest, which was now at its height. Her couch of cushions was dragged far back into the cavern and the rescued blankets, though drenched, again became a screen.
"Do you imagine that I'm going in there while this storm rages?" Beverly demanded, as the work progressed.
"Are you not afraid of lightning? Most young women are."
"That's the trouble. I am afraid of it. I'd much rather stay out here where there is company. You don't mind, do you?"
"Paradise cannot be spurned by one who now feels its warmth for the first time," said he, gallantly. "Your fear is my delight. Pray sit upon our throne. It was once a humble carriage pail of leather, but now it is exalted. Besides, it is much more comfortable than some of the gilded chairs we hear about."
"You are given to irony, I fear," she said, observing a peculiar smile on his lips.