Thomas was on his feet and after her in a second, but the was too quick
for him; her sitting-room door was locked before he reached it, and
repeated knocking and calling brought no answer. Mr. and Mrs. Gray, who
slept in the chamber opening from the dining-room, and back of Sylvia's,
reported the next morning that something must be troubling the "blessed
girl," for they had heard soft sobbing far into the night; but, after
all, that had happened before, and was to be expected from one "whose
heart was buried in the grave." Their sons made no comment, but both were
immeasurably relieved when, after an entire day spent in her room, during
which each, in his own way, had suffered intensely, she reappeared at
supper as if nothing had happened. It was a glorious night, and she
suggested, as she left the table, that Thomas might take her for a short
paddle, a canoe being among the many things which had been gradually
arriving for her all summer. Molly and Edith went with them, and Austin
smoked alone with his bitter reflections.

* * * * *

The thunder was rumbling in good earnest when Howard Gray and Thomas came
clattering up with their last load of hay for the night, and the three
men pitched it hastily into place together, and hurried into the house.
Mrs. Gray was bustling about slamming windows, and the girls were
bringing in the red-cushioned hammocks and piazza, chairs, but the first
great drops began to fall before they had finished, and the wind, seldom
roused in the quiet valley, was blowing violently; Edith, stopping too
long for a last pillow and a precious book, was drenched to the skin in
an instant; the house was pitch dark before there was time to grope for
lights, but was almost immediately illumined by a brilliant flash of
lightning, followed by a loud report.