Robert Audley stood in his friend's way as he spoke, anxious to prevent
his going to bed in the state he was in; but George pushed him fiercely
aside, and, striding past him, said, in the same hoarse voice Robert had
noticed at the Court:

"Let me alone, Robert Audley, and keep clear of me if you can."

Robert followed George to his bedroom, but the young man banged the door
in his face, so there was nothing for it but to leave Mr. Talboys to
himself, to recover his temper as best he might.

"He was irritated at my noticing his terror of the lightning," though
Robert, as he calmly retired to rest, serenely indifferent to the
thunder, which seemed to shake him in his bed, and the lightning playing
fitfully round the razors in his open dressing-case.

The storm rolled away from the quiet village of Audley, and when Robert
awoke the next morning it was to see bright sunshine, and a peep of
cloudless sky between the white curtains of his bedroom window.

It was one of those serene and lovely mornings that sometimes succeed a
storm. The birds sung loud and cheerily, the yellow corn uplifted itself
in the broad fields, and waved proudly after its sharp tussle with the
tempest, which had done its best to beat down the heavy ears with cruel
wind and driving rain half the night through. The vine-leaves clustering
round Robert's window fluttered with a joyous rustling, shaking the
rain-drops in diamond showers from every spray and tendril.

Robert Audley found his friend waiting for him at the breakfast-table.