A third time conscience raised her warning voice, and a third time I would not listen to her, and for the very same reason—because I was a coward, afraid to do that which I knew was right.
"Two for whiskey," said Jack to the landlord, as he opened the door of the little inn parlor.
[CHAPTER X.]
THE STORM.
WE were sitting with our glasses in our hands, and Jack was making all sorts of absurd speeches, and was proposing my health, and the landlord's health, and the health of the rest of the company in the room, when there came art unusually bright flash of lightning, which made us all start, followed immediately by a peal of thunder, which sounded as if the house were falling over our heads.
"Good gracious!" said Jack. "That was a whacker! I shall have to drink Mr. Thunder's health next!"
But I could not join in the laugh with which he followed this silly speech. That flash of lightning had made me think of the storm on the night of Salome's fifth birthday; and with the thought of the storm came the remembrance of Salome's text:
"One shall be taken, and the other left," and of Salome's sorrowful words, as she clung to me that night: