Wool stood appalled at the prospect of turning out in such a storm
upon such a fruitless errand.

"Oh, you may stare and roll up your eyes, but I mean it, you varlet!
So be off with you! Go! I don't care if you should be drowned in the
rain, or blown off the horse, or struck by lightning. I hope you may
be; you knave, and I shall be rid of one villain! Off, you varlet,
or--" Old Hurricane lifted a bronze statuette to hurl at Wool's
delinquent head, but that functionary dodged and ran out in time to
escape a blow that might have put a period to his mortal career.

But let no one suppose that honest Wool took the road that night! He
simply ran down-stairs and hid himself comfortably in the lowest
regions of the house, there to tarry until the storms, social and
atmospheric, should be over,

Meanwhile the night deepened, the storm raged without and Old
Hurricane raged within!

The lightning flashed, blaze upon blaze, with blinding glare! The
thunder broke, crash upon crash, with deafening roar! The wind
gathering all its force cannonaded the old walls as though it would
batter down the house! The rain fell in floods! In the midst of all
the Demon's Run, swollen to a torrent, was heard like the voice of a
"roaring lion, seeking whom he might devour!"

Old Hurricane strode up and down the floor, groaning, swearing,
threatening, and at every fresh blast of the storm without, breaking
forth into fury!