"Flora, can you really give way to such idle fancies?"
"The sun is obscured."
"Ay, but it will shine all the brighter for its temporary eclipse. The thunder-storm will clear the air of many noxious vapours; the forked lightning has its uses as well as its powers of mischief. Hark! there again!"
Another peal, of almost equal intensity to the other, shook the firmament. Flora trembled.
"Charles," she said, "this is the voice of Heaven. We must part—we must part for ever. I cannot be yours."
"Flora, this is madness. Think again, dear Flora. Misfortunes for a time will hover over the best and most fortunate of us; but, like the clouds that now obscure the sweet sunshine, will pass away, and leave no trace behind them. The sunshine of joy will shine on you again."
There was a small break in the clouds, like a window looking into Heaven. From it streamed one beam of sunlight, so bright, so dazzling, and so beautiful, that it was a sight of wonder to look upon. It fell upon the face of Flora; it warmed her cheek; it lent lustre to her pale lips and tearful eyes; it illumined that little summer-house as if it had been the shrine of some saint.
"Behold!" cried Charles, "where is your omen now?"
"God of Heaven!'" cried Flora; and she stretched out her arms.
"The clouds that hover over your spirit now," said Charles, "shall pass away. Accept this beam of sunlight as a promise from God."