“Oh, George! my child, my child! what will become of you! Oh, Mr. Fayerweather, why did you let him go!” she exclaimed to her husband, who at this moment entered the apartment.
He was ashy pale, but no other indication of the dreadful apprehension under which he was suffering was visible on his countenance, and not being able to nerve himself to bear the sight of his wife’s agonies, should she know how strong were the grounds for her fears, he endeavored to make light of them.
“Oh, my dear, do not be in trouble about George; he’s far beyond the reach of this little squall; he and Dick have probably been in New York these two hours.” (Mr. Fayerweather hoped devoutly to be forgiven for thus belying his conscience, well-knowing that implicit confidence would be placed in his assurances.) “He and Dick, I have no doubt, are now patroling the streets with eyes and mouths wide open at the wonders they see.”
“Well, I am rejoiced if they are out of the reach of this hurricane; but I hope Captain Seaward will not trust them alone in New York streets; I have always heard it is a terrible place for children. Sometimes they are kidnapped as I have heard tell,” replied Mrs. Fayerweather, her fears somewhat quieted.
“Oh, you need not be afraid of that, my dear; the captain promised faithfully that he would not suffer George to go out of his sight,” said her husband as he left the apartment, and Amy resumed her book.
The gust, after several vain attempts to shake the solid old mansion from its foundation, at length relaxed its efforts and fell into a calm; the sky cleared up and the sun went down in tranquil beauty. Before its disc had wholly disappeared, however, it was surrounded by a light haze, which gradually spreading and deepening, at length assumed the form of a dark thunder-cloud, reaching nearly to the zenith.
A flash of lightning was the signal for the whole household to assemble, and before the low, deep bass of the distant thunder reached their ears, they were all collected within madam’s chamber and its nearest precincts. The bed was her own retreat, and she would have been glad to have given the whole family a place on it could they have found room. Amy, whose fears were scarcely less, seated herself on a low stool by the bed-side, and leaning her arms on the bed buried her face in the counterpane. Vi’let without ceremony ensconced herself in the easy-chair, rocking to and fro and groaning out at intervals, “Oh, that old witch!” while old Tabby, who did not choose to be left alone in the kitchen, crowded in by her side, and took her full share of the cushion. Not finding another low seat, Flora took the floor at the side of Miss Amy, and leaned her arms on a chair in imitation of her young mistress; and Peter placed himself at first on the top-most of the back stairs, but by degrees, as the storm increased, edged further into the apartment, and at length after a loud clap of thunder, planted himself on one leg against the side of the door, with his woolly poll half in his mistress’s chamber. John, who enjoyed a thunder-storm above all things, took his station at a window where he could best see the lightning, while his father and Mr. Wendell, a young lawyer who was an admirer of Amy, and was now added to the family party, paced up and down the long passage, extending their walk into the antechamber before-mentioned, in a corner of which Scipio had placed himself.
Though the long summer twilight had but just commenced, darkness had suddenly covered the face of all things, when a dash of lightning, more intense than the sun, quivered for a moment through the passage and in the chambers, accompanied by a crash of thunder.
“The massiful s’us!” groaned Vi’let. “The lawful massy!” ejaculated Flora. Poor madam could only whisper, “O dear! dear!” Amy trembled.
“That’s royal!” cried John, starting up and clapping his hands.