I was glad of her company, to tell you the truth, and led the way rapidly to the ruin. The door was locked! but we picked our way to the back, past those desolate graves, and entered where a wall had fallen in. It was not an easy task to scramble over the mouldering remains of roof and wall, but we accomplished it and ensconced ourselves in a pew in that end of the structure which was still whole enough to afford shelter, although how much of safety was doubtful.
We were none too soon. Almost immediately the rain came down with that furious energy characteristic of storms in these mountains, the thunder was really appalling, and the lightning seemed to have got beyond control of itself—the forks cut its steady blaze. My companion had possessed herself of my hand and cowered against me. Her vernacular as exhibited in a disconnected monologue quite distracted my mind from the storm.
“Oh, my Gawd,” she would mutter; then with a violent start: “Gee whizz! Wat for did I ever come up to these mountains and I alwus so afraid of lightnin’? O-w-w! Oh, Lordy I’ll never do it agin, I vow I won’t. Oh, Joc why ain’t you here? I’m skaret plum to death. I know I’ll be struck clean to kingdom come, and I ain’t so bad. I really ain’t. Oh, Joc you ain’t treaten’ me right to be safe down there in Noo York and me goin’ to be kilt for ever up on these wicked mountins.”
Fortunately, the electricity had other havoc to accomplish before its force was spent, and passed quickly, leaving only the rain behind it. She recovered herself almost as quickly and sat up and smoothed her hair, then took off her hat and regarded the feathers.
“They ain’t wet, thank heavings,” she said, then readjusted it carefully; after which she turned and regarded me with suspicion. She was a pretty dainty creature, not as common as you would expect, for the national delicacy of feature and sensitiveness of expression seem quite as impartial as democracy could demand.
“Who are you?” she asked. “I ain’t seen you before in these parts.”
“I am on the mountain, at Boulder Lake.”
A light flashed into her damp eyes. “Aw, now, you ain’t that there Lady Helen somethin’, a dook’s sister, what everybody is talkin’ about?”
I bowed in as graceful acknowledgment as I could muster and she pursued delightedly:
“You look like it and I’ve seen a lord as didn’t, but you look just like you might be the heroine of a story in the ‘Family Herald’.”