PHILOSOPHY AND PONCHOS.
While the geographer was discoursing thus, the whole eastern horizon assumed a stormy aspect. A dense and dark band, clearly defined, gradually rose, dimming the light of the stars. This cloud of threatening appearance soon invaded almost the entire vault of the sky. Its motive power must have been inherent in itself, for there was not a breath of wind. Not a leaf stirred on the tree, not a ripple curled the surface of the waters. Even the air seemed to fail, as if some huge pneumatic machine had rarefied it. A strong electric current was perceptible in the atmosphere, and every creature felt it course along the nerves. Glenarvan, Paganel, and Robert were sensibly affected by these electric currents.
"We shall have a storm," said Paganel.
"You are not afraid of thunder?" asked Glenarvan of the boy.
"Oh, no, my lord," replied Robert.
"Well, so much the better; for the storm is now not far distant."
"And it will be violent," continued Paganel, "so far as I can judge from the state of the sky."
"It is not the storm that troubles me," said Glenarvan, "but the torrents of rain with which it will be accompanied. We shall be drenched to the skin again. Whatever you may say, Paganel, a nest cannot suffice a man, as you will soon learn to your cost."
"Oh, yes, it can, with philosophy," briskly replied the geographer.