Randolph and the two Sandfords looked as usual. But now the delayed
storm drew near. The thunder notified with every burst the fact that it
was coming speedily; the lightning became vivid and constant. A
premonitory sweep of the wind--and the clouds gave out their treasures
of rain and hail with tremendous fury. The lightning was terrible now,
and the darkness of the intervals between so great that the company
could scarcely see each other's faces. This was more than some of the
party had bargained for, and there was a degree of confusion. Screams
from a few of the ladies and exclamations of terror from others were
mixed now and then with words that sounded very like an oath to Daisy's
ear, though they were not spoken in levity. She bent her head round to
look in the face of the lady who had last used them, as if to assure
herself what was meant; and then her head went down on Mr. Randolph's
shoulder and her face was hidden.
"Daisy--" whispered her father.
"Yes, papa."
"Are you afraid?"
"No, papa--not for myself."
"What? Look up here, Daisy."
She lifted her face; it was wistful and troubled.
"Are you concerned about the storm, my darling?"
"No, papa; not myself."
"How then, Daisy?"
She shuddered. "Papa, I wish they would not scream so!"
"Why does that trouble _you_?" said Mr. Randolph smiling.
But Daisy's face was unutterably grave, as a new brilliant band of
forked lightning glittered outside the windows, and the burst of the
thunderbolt sounded as if at their very feet, making a renewal of the
same cries and exclamations.
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