Even while he spoke a green light flashed out and lighted up his face for a moment. The thunder soon followed—a long, low growl, dying away into distant echoes.
'It will be rather fine in this narrow fjord,' suggested Trist to no one in particular. 'I think I will go on deck.'
Mrs. Wylie looked towards Brenda before replying.
'I prefer something more solid than an awning between me and a thunderstorm,' she said decisively.
Brenda rose from her seat and looked round for a shawl. It somehow occurred that, wherever Mrs. Wylie happened to be, a warm shawl was invariably to be found somewhere in proximity.
'I think I will go,' said the girl simply. It did not seem to occur to her that there could be any reason why she should not go on deck with Trist, nor did she appear to think it strange that he should fail to suggest it.
He came to her side and dropped the shawl deftly on to her small, square shoulders, and then they passed out of the saloon together. He climbed the narrow companion-way first, and turned to assist her over the brass-plated combing. They were welcomed on deck by a blinding flash, which for a second lighted up every nook and corner of the fjord. The darkness that followed was almost stunning in its utter opaqueness. Brenda hesitated for a moment, and they stood side-by-side during the crackle of the thunder. When the rumble and echo of it had died away, Trist held out his hand.
'Come,' he said, 'I will guide you—I know all the ring-bolts on the deck.'
Then, seeing that her two hands were wrapped in the shawl, he took hold of her wrist through the soft wool and led her aft. When they were half-way across the deck towards the skylight, where there was a seat, there came a tremendous crash. A blinding yellow flame appeared to leap from the summit of the mountain above them—a flame so brilliant, so sudden, and so grand, that it seemed to burn into their eyes, and for a moment paralyzed their brains. It was impossible to indicate the exact spot whence came that wild electric fire, and whither it went no man could tell. Simultaneously the heavy atmosphere burst and vibrated into such a confusion of crackle, and rumble, and distant roar, that even Theo Trist staggered and caught his breath convulsively. The Hermione quivered beneath their feet, and for some moments they could not hear the steady reassuring splash of the cold rain.
When Trist recovered himself he found Brenda clinging to him. She had abandoned the shawl, and her bare arms were upon his sleeve.