"I said that it was August-time,—the twenty-seventh day of the month. Alice and I had been out in the little bay outside of Redcliff beach, with your sister. You don't remember her: she was like you. Doctor Percival had given Mary a boat, taught her to row it, and she had that afternoon given Alice a first lesson in the art. The day went down hot and sultry; we lingered on the cooler beach until near evening. We saw clouds lying dark along the western horizon, and that voiceless lightnings played in them. Then we came home. The air was tiresome, the walk seemed endless; still Alice and Mary lingered at the gate of your father's house to say their last words. The mid-summer weariness was over us both, as we reached home. We came up to this room,—our room then. Alice said,—
"'I think I shall go to bed, I'm so tired.'
"She closed the blinds. As she did so, a crash of thunder came.
"'We're going to have a thunder-shower, after all,' she said; 'how quickly it is coming up! Come and see.'
"I looked a moment out. Jet masses of vapor were curling up amid the stars, blotting out, one by one, their brightness from the sky. Alice was always timid in thunder-storms. She shuddered, as a second flash pealed out its thunder, and crept up to me. I put my arms around her, and rested my cheek against her head. She was trembling violently.
"'Lie down, Allie; let me close the other blinds; don't look out any longer.'
"Our mother came in.
"'I came to see if the windows were all down,' she said; 'it will rain in a moment'; and she hurried away, and I heard her closing, one after another, the windows that had been all day open.
"Alice lay for a long time quietly. The storm uprose with fearful might; it shook the house in its passing grasp, and I sat by this table, listening to the music wrought out of the thunderous echoes.
"'Couldn't we have a window open?' Alice asked; 'I feel stifled in here'; and she went across the room and lifted the sash before I was aware.