As the thunder died away, he recovered his composure,
and addressed himself to soothe the fears of his granddaughter. In this
he had partially succeeded, and was urging her again to seek her
couch, when the storm recommenced with fresh fury. Mabel once more
fell on her knees, and the old man resumed his sullen posture. Another
dreadful half-hour, marked by a succession of terrible peals and vivid
flashes, succeeded, when, amidst an awful pause, Mabel ventured to
address her old relative.
"Why do you not pray, grandfather? "she said, regarding him uneasily.
"Sister Anastasia and good Father Anselm always taught me to utter an
Ave and cross myself during a thunderstorm. Why do you not pray,
grandfather?"
"Do not trouble me. I have no fear."
"But your cheeks and lips are blanched," rejoined Mabel; "and I
observed you shudder during that last awful crash. Pray, grandfather,
pray!"
"Peace, wench, and mind your own business!" returned the old man
angrily. "The storm will soon be over--it cannot last long in this way."
"The saints preserve us! " cried Mabel, as a tremendous concussion
was heard overhead, followed by a strong sulphureous smell. "The
cottage is struck!"
"It is--it is!" cried Tristram, springing to his feet and rushing forth.
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