Clouds had gathered thickly over the sky, and though a few shafts
of sunlight still forced a passage through them, the threatening
darkness spread with steady persistency, especially to the northern side
of the horizon, where Storm hovered in the shape of a black wing edged
with coppery crimson. As they reached the yacht a silver glare of
lightning sprang forth from beneath this sable pinion, and a few large
drops of rain began to fall. Errington hurried Thelma on deck and down
into the saloon. His friends, with Gueldmar, followed,--and the vessel
was soon plunging through waves of no small height on her way back to
the Altenfjord. A loud peal of thunder like a salvo of artillery
accompanied their departure from Soroe, and Thelma shivered a little as
she heard it.
"You are nervous, Mademoiselle Gueldmar?" asked Duprez, noticing her
tremor.
"Oh no," she answered brightly. "Nervous? That is to be afraid,--I am
not afraid of a storm, but I do not like it. It is a cruel, fierce
thing; and I should have wished to-day to be all sunshine--all
gladness!" She paused, and her eyes grew soft and humid.
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