About midnight Lucy was roused by a loud clap of thunder. The rain was dashing in through the open window, and the waning lamp seemed but a spark amid the almost incessant flashes of lightning. The poor child trembled with fear, she dared not close the window, and yet the flying drops almost reached her little bed. She lay in an agony of terror, thinking that every moment might be her last. The idea of death was horrible to her: in broad daylight, or when pleasantly occupied, she could forget that she must die; but any sudden fright would bring the solemn truth to her mind and fill her with distress. She had never heard Mrs. Maxwell or Harty speak of being afraid of death, and dared not mention her fear to them, and with her father she was so shy, that he knew very little of what was passing in her mind.
The many faults of which she had been guilty rose to her mind in that awful storm, and she resolved if her life were spared never to do wrong again. After making this resolution she felt a little comforted, and began to think what could be done about the window. She got up and took the lamp to go and call some one to her assistance. But whom should she call? "I will not disturb father," she said to herself, "he was so very tired last night; Harty will laugh at me for not doing it myself; and Mrs. Maxwell—I cannot wake her, she will be so very angry." Thus thinking, she stood irresolutely in the hall, starting at every flash of lightning, and afraid either to go forward or return. Just then Mrs. Maxwell opened her door: "What are you about there?" said she, with an astonished look at Lucy.
"Please, ma'am," said the little girl, who was really glad to see a human face, "will you shut my window?"
"Why in the name of wonder did not you shut it yourself?" was the response. Lucy was silent, and they entered the room, together. "A pretty piece of work!" said the neat housekeeper, holding tip both hands, as her eyes fell on the soaking carpet. She shut the window hastily, and then said to Lucy, "Come to my room, for it wouldn't be safe for any one to sleep in that damp place."
Lucy was so much afraid of Mrs. Maxwell, that it was quite a trial to be in the same bod with her; she crept close to the wall, not daring to go to sleep, lest she should be restless, and wake the stern woman at her side. She had many serious thoughts that night, and again and again resolved never more to do wrong.
Towards morning she had a pleasant nap, from which she was roused by the morning bell. The sun was shining cheerfully into the room, and the wild storm of the night seemed like a painful dream. She dressed herself carefully, and knelt to say her morning prayer, simple words which she had repeated a thousand times with as little thought as if they had been without sense or meaning. Those same words, spoken with earnest sincerity, would have called down a blessing from Him who loves to listen when children truly pray. Lucy had not forgotten her resolution to do right, but she trusted in her own feeble efforts.
A flush of pleasure lit the usually pale face of the little girl as she saw her father seated at the breakfast-table. She glided into the chair next him, and hardly ate anything, she was so busily occupied in watching his plate, and placing all he might need beside him. Harty, meanwhile, showed his delight in his father's company by being more talkative than usual. He had taken a long walk in the fresh morning air, and had many things to tell about what he had seen. What had interested him most was a tall tree, which the recent lightning had struck and splintered from the topmost bough to the root.
Lucy shuddered as the conversation brought the painful scene of the night afresh to her mind. It revived Mrs. Maxwell's memory also, for she turned to Lucy with a stern look, and said, "How came you with a light last night?"
Lucy blushed, and hastily answered, "I forgot to put it out when I went to bed."
"Careless child!" was Mrs. Maxwell's only reply; but nothing that she could have said would have made Lucy more unhappy than the fault she had just committed. What would she not have given, a few moments after, to recall those false words; but they had been spoken, and recorded in the book of God!