They went away at last, and soon after we got Matilda in and followed.
With her head towards home, and hard, level road, Matilda trotted now, and laughed louder than ever.
But soon the road began to rise; we had to climb the long, steep Maidenhead hill.
And just then the storm of rain and hail broke right in our teeth. At the middle of the hill it was at its worst, but the mare strode boldly on, and finally we were on fairly level road and drew up under some lime-trees.
The distance from Twyford to Maidenhead is nine miles, so we took it as easy going: as we had done coming.
We had meant to have tea in the thicket, but I found at the last moment I had forgotten the water. There was nothing for it but to “bide a wee.”
We stopped for half-an-hour in the thicket, nevertheless, to admire the scenery. Another storm was coming up, but as yet the sun shone brightly on the woods beyond the upland, and the effect was very beautiful. The tree masses were of every colour—green elms and limes, yellowed-leaved oaks, dark waving Scottish pines, and black and elfin-looking yews, with here and there a copper beech.
But the storm came on apace. The last ray of sunlight struck athwart a lime, making its branches look startlingly green against the dark purple of the thundercloud.
Then a darting, almost blinding flash, and by-and-bye the peal of thunder.
The storm came nearer and nearer, so that soon the thunder-claps followed the flashes almost instantly.