“Nor I of you,” said Belle; “so I will come. Why should I be afraid? I can take my own part; that is—”
We went into the tent and sat down, and now the rain began to pour with vehemence. “I hope we
shall not be flooded in this hollow,” said I to Belle.
“There is no fear of that,” said Belle; “the wandering people, amongst other names, call it the dry hollow. I believe there is a passage somewhere or other by which the wet is carried off. There must be a cloud right above us, it is so dark. Oh! what a flash!”
“And what a peal!” said I; “that is what the Hebrews call Koul Adonai—the voice of the Lord. Are you afraid?”
“No,” said Belle, “I rather like to hear it.”
“You are right,” said I, “I am fond of the sound of thunder myself. There is nothing like it: Koul Adonai behadar; the voice of the Lord is a glorious voice, as the prayer-book version hath it.”
“There is something awful in it,” said Belle; “and then the lightning, the whole dingle is now in a blaze.”
“‘The voice of the Lord maketh the hinds to calve, and discovereth the thick bushes.’ As you say, there is something awful in thunder.”
“There are all kinds of noises above us,” said Belle: “surely I heard the crashing of a tree?”