“Yes, I think that is the best we can do,” said Herbert, wheeling about and trotting on ahead.
The shock to Zoe had been very severe. All the way home she was shuddering, trembling, sobbing hysterically, and clinging to her husband and babies as though in terror lest they should be suddenly torn from her arms.
In vain Edward tried to sooth and quiet her, clasping her close and calling her by every endearing name; telling her the danger was a thing of the past; that their heavenly Father had mercifully preserved and shielded them, and they had every reason to rest with quietness and assurance in his protecting care.
“Yes, yes, I know it all, dear Ned,” she sobbed, “but have patience with me, dear; my nerves are all unstrung and I cannot be calm and quiet; I cannot help trembling, or keep back the tears, though I am thankful, oh, so thankful! that not one of us was killed or even hurt.”
“No; it was a wonderful escape,” he said in moved tones; “a wonderful evidence of the goodness of God to all of us; and thankful I am that even the horses escaped injury.”
“Yes, yes, indeed, poor things! I’m very glad they escaped so well,” she sobbed; “but for them to have been killed would have been as nothing to having one of our dear babies hurt.”
“Oh, no, no! and we can never be thankful enough for their escape,” he responded in moved tones, putting his arm around both at once and drawing them into a closer embrace, while they looked from one parent to the other in wide-eyed wonder.
“There, dear,” said Edward the next minute, glancing from the window, “we are turning into our own avenue and you may surely feel that the threatened danger is fully past.”
“Ah, no!” she returned, shuddering; “how can we be sure that any of our grand old trees may not fall at any moment? I shall never, never feel safe again.”