“There’s going to be a storm!” said Mr. Lester gloomily.
A little wind was sighing, up and down, over the gorse. The sun shone as brilliantly as ever, but on the horizon black, heavy clouds were gathering. Then suddenly the little breeze fell and there was perfect stillness. The air was heavy with the scent of the gorse. It was very hot. Then, very faintly, the noise of thunder came across the sea.
“The gods are angry,” said Tony.
“Oh! my dear!” said Lady Gale. “And there isn’t a cover to the wagonette thing! Whatever shall we do? We shall get soaked to the skin. I never dreamt of its raining.”
“Perhaps,” said Maradick, “if we started at once we might get in before it broke.”
The things were hurriedly packed and everyone hastened over the gorse. They clambered into the wagonette. Across the sky great fleets of black clouds were hurrying and the sound of the thunder was closer at hand. Everything was still, with the immovability of something held by an invisible hand, and the trees seemed to fling black pointing fingers to the black gloomy sky.
For a mile they raced the storm, and then it broke upon them. The thunder crashed and the lightning flared across their path, and then the rain came in sheeted floods. What fun for the gods! They cowered back in their seats and not a word was spoken by anyone; the driver lashed his horses along the shining road.
Whilst they journeyed, each traveller was asking himself or herself a question. These questions must be recorded, because they will all be answered during the course of this history.
Lady Gale’s question. Why did everything go wrong?
Mrs. Maradick’s question. Why had a malevolent providence invented Mrs. Lester, and, having invented her, what could James see in her?