"I'd hoped for one more good storm before I went. I've been waiting all day for this."
He never forgot the strange figure that she made; she displayed the excitement of a child presented with a sudden unexpected gift.
He himself had known many storms, but, perhaps because she now made so strange a central figure of this one, this always remained with him as the worst of his life. He had never heard such thunder and, as each crash fell upon them, he felt that she rose to it and exulted in it as though she were a swimmer meeting great ocean rollers.
There was at last a peal that broke upon them as though it had tumbled the whole house about their ears. Deafened by it he looked about him as though he had expected to find everything in the room shattered.
"That was the best," she cried to him.
At last she lay back tired, and he bade her good night.
She held his hand for a moment. "I regret nothing," she said, "nothing at all. I've had a good time."
But, after he had left her, the sound of the rain had some personal fury about it that made her uneasy.
She called to Dorchester. "I think I'd like you to sleep here to-night, Dorchester. I may need you."
"Very well, Your Grace."