These discussions annoyed Mr. Godfrey the more because he felt the inconsistency between the past idea and the present practice. On the other hand, Hester was not in possession of the principle she was seeking; that was acknowledged with regret on her part, though she by no means gave up the search, and still less rested contented with the inferior motive of placing all development, all future improvement on the mere basis of money-making.
Among Mr. Godfrey's friends, one of the most intimate, because the most scientific after the fashion of this world's science, was a Mr. Spencer—a gentleman whose works had already acquired for him a great share of reputation, and who was gradually acquiring great influence over Mr. Godfrey. He was a man of about five-and-thirty years of age, being some twelve years older than our Hester, whom he greatly admired, notwithstanding that he found her mind a little difficult to understand. Perhaps he liked her the better that she puzzled him, that she took different views from him. Certain it is that he haunted her society whenever he could find an excuse, and Mr. Godfrey seemed particularly well pleased to find them together, as he [{759}] hoped that interviews with such a learned man would dissipate any tendency to religion, especially the Catholic religion, that Hester might be fostering in consequence of the proclivities of her mother and of the rest of the family in that direction.
. . . . .
'Twas autumn, a walk through the woods had brought the trio together, and together they returned to the house; the gusty and fitful wind scattering in their path the tinted leaves that fell like showers from the trees beneath which they were passing. Wild clouds were hurrying through space, as if summoned suddenly to assist at some tempestuous commotion, and though many miles distant was the sea, the roar of waves was heard beating on the far-off shore; every sign betokened that a storm was at hand. The pedestrians hurried to the house, and scarcely had they reached it, than impulsively they went to the window to gaze in mute amazement at the scene. A sudden wind was uprooting trees, unroofing houses, and carrying off all things before it. An old barn long doomed to be pulled down, which was but awaiting hands to perform the work, suddenly reeled like a drunken man, and in a few moments more fell to the ground with a great crash. The servant girls screamed in the hall, "the men went in for shelter, they must be crushed to death!" The door was opened that the serving-men might rush to the rescue, but the wind swept like a tornado through the hall, tiles were rattling from the house-top, bricks tumbling from the chimneys. To leave the house was impossible, none could stand against such a blast. A large boarded roof that was being prepared by the carpenters was carried off the scaffold, and after being for some time balanced in the air as if it were a paper kite, fell at length with a loud splash into the lake some quarter of a mile distant from the spot whence it was first uplifted. The scene was at once terrific and sublime, and but for the screams and sobs of the girls, who feared to have some father, brother, or friend buried beneath the fallen building, Hester could have enjoyed the spectacle; but she was occupied in endeavoring to soothe the panic-stricken tremblers, and for consolation what could she say? She could but stand by and sympathize, and utter words of hope, meaningless because unfelt. It was a relief when the storm abated to find that all the men had been able to quit the building at the first creaking of the rafters, and by crawling on all fours had reached a place where they lay safely till the storm had passed—all save one, and he was protected by the manner in which the beams fell over him, they being prevented from falling perpendicularly by some obstacles, and formed a sloping defensive shelter for the young man who happened to find himself in that particular corner, from which, when the storm abated, he was extricated by his companions, with no other injury suffered than the alarm endured for several hours; and in this alarm he had many sharers, for few of the neighbours could rest in peace until he was drawn forth unhurt.
A feeling of relief pervaded the party as with closed shutters, drawn curtains, and every appurtenance of comfort, they drew round the bright coal fire, which shed a glowing, cheering warmth throughout the apartment—while the rain which had succeeded to this storm of wind was pattering against the windows, enhancing the comfort within by a sense of dreariness without.
"How remorseless is nature!" said Mr. Spence, as at length the silence which had pervaded the three friends became almost painful; "decay, change, transition, pain, with transient gleams of beauty, as if to render the surrounding gloom more painful still, and no escape: how remorseless is nature!"
"All things have their bright side, I believe," she said, "even so terrible a storm as to-day's. It is good to feel a grand sensation sometimes, it stirs up the very depths of one's being."
"How would it have been if those men had been crushed to death, or worse, hopelessly maimed for life?"
"That did not happen. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof."