CHAPTER VIII.


GEORGE AND THE LAIRD.

Alexa's money was nearly exhausted, and most of her chickens had been
devoured by the flourishing convalescent, but not yet would the doctor
allow him to return to business.

One night the electric condition of the atmosphere made it heavy, sultry
and unrefreshing, and George could not sleep. There came a terrible
burst of thunder; then a bannered spear of vividest lightning seemed to
lap the house in its flashing folds, and the simultaneous thunder was
mingled with the sound, as it seemed, of the fall of some part of the
building. George sat up in bed and listened. All was still. He must rise
and see what had happened, and whether any one was hurt. He might meet
Alexa, and a talk with her would be a pleasant episode in his sleepless
night. He got into his dressing-gown, and taking his stick, walked
softly from the room.

His door opened immediately on the top of the stair. He stood and
listened, but was aware of no sequel to the noise. Another flash came,
and lighted up the space around him, with its walls of many angles. When
the darkness was returned and the dazzling gone, and while the thunder
yet bellowed, he caught the glimmer of a light under the door of the
study, and made his way toward it over the worn slabs. He knocked, but