A Flash of Lightning
When Robin awoke next morning he found that the weather had completely changed during the night. Gusts of wind howled round the little cottage and rattled the casement, as if angry foes sought admittance to his room. From his bed he could hear the hollow boom of the waves upon the shore, and the old apple-tree outside his window creaked and groaned as it was forced to bend its aged limbs before the gale.
His first thought was of the house in the wood and its mysterious occupant.
"I'll run up at once and see how the man has got on," he decided. "I don't think it looks as if it had rained yet, and it's pretty sheltered in the coppice, so I hope he has had a good night. I wonder if he is still there, or if he went at break of day as he said he would."
It was not long before he was peeping through the doorway of the little hut, his hair blown like an aureole about his forehead and his cheeks flushed by the buffeting of the wind.
"Of such is the kingdom of heaven," were the words that rose spontaneously to the stranger's lips as he glanced up at the fair vision before him.
"I'm not gone yet, Robin," he said as he held out his hand to the boy. "I am afraid I must ask you to put up with me for a few hours longer. I didn't feel quite up to an early start this morning."
Robin flew to his side and took the thin fingers in his.
"Of course you may stay here as long as you like," he replied. "I'm only afraid there's a storm coming on, and if it's very bad the roof might perhaps let in a little rain, supposing, you know, it came down in torrents."
The stranger smiled. "It's worth feeling ill to get another glimpse of you, my boy," he said. "I must confess that the longing for it rather weighed with me when I debated about my departure in the early dawn. I shall have to start soon, however, so as to be sure to catch the evening train to London, as it is hopeless to think of getting there on foot after this attack. It is six miles to the station, isn't it, Robin?"