CHAPTER II
AFTER THE STORM
The day has been fearfully hot. Unconscious of surroundings, every nerve seemingly relaxed, a young man is riding along the road toward the station. Passing a wooded strip, there is a blinding flash. With much effort, Oswald frees himself from the limb of a tree, which in falling broke the neck of his horse. Bewildered with pain and drenched to the skin, he is staggering around in the mud, when a light wagon, drawn by a fine team, comes to a sudden halt at the fallen tree. The driver turns his conveyance around and assists the soaked victim of the storm to a seat. Retracing the way to another road, after a roundabout journey they stop in front of a large mansion surrounded by a grove.
The injured man is assisted to a room. A servant soon brings dry clothing and kindles a fire.
Oswald begins to meditate upon his mishap. "Close call," murmurs he, "and just as I had completed that grand air-castle! At the very moment when the acclaim was the loudest and the star of Langdon seemed brightest, that blinding flash! That terrible shock, too, and such an oppressive feeling, until the limb was removed from my breast! What does it mean? How like and yet unlike my last night's dream! I feel so cold, too." He stirs the fire, which is burning cheerily, and sits down in the cushioned chair, the blood flowing from his mouth.
Oswald soon recovers from the hemorrhage, and is aroused from his languor by the entrance of a fine-looking man whose general appearance indicates a life of about fifty years.
Seeing the pale face, and noting its strong outlines, yet refined expression, he stands for a moment in silent admiration.
"How do you feel now?"
"Much better, thank you," is the feeble reply.