She was awakened in the middle of the night by the violent flapping of

her chamber door. Startled, she sat bolt upright and strained her eyes

to pierce the mysterious darkness. Aunt Fanny, on her bed of grass,

stirred convulsively, but did not awake. The blackness of the strange

chamber was broken ever and anon by faint flashes of light from without,

and she lived through long minutes of terror before it dawned upon her

that a thunderstorm was brewing. The wind was rising, and the night

seemed agog with excitement. Beverly crept from her couch and felt her

way to the fluttering doorway. Drawing aside the blanket she peered

forth into the night, her heart jumping with terror. Her highness was

very much afraid of thunder and lightning.

The fire in the open had died down until naught remained but a few

glowing embers. These were blown into brilliancy by the wind, casting a

steady red light over the scene. There was but one human figure in

sight. Beside the fire stood the tall wanderer. He was hatless and

coatless, and his arms were folded across his chest. Seemingly oblivious

to the approach of the storm, he stood staring into the heap of ashes at

his feet. His face was toward her, every feature plainly distinguishable

in the faint glow from the fire. To her amazement the black patch was

missing from the eye; and, what surprised her almost to the point of

exclaiming aloud, there appeared to be absolutely no reason for its

presence there at any time. There was no mark or blemish upon or about

the eye; it was as clear and penetrating as its fellow, darkly gleaming

in the red glow from below. Moreover, Beverly saw that he was strikingly

handsome--a strong, manly face. The highly imaginative southern girl's

mind reverted to the first portraits of Napoleon she had seen.

Suddenly he started, threw up his head and looking up to the sky uttered

some strange words. Then he strode abruptly toward her doorway. She fell

back breathless. He stopped just outside, and she knew that he was

listening for sounds from within. After many minutes she stealthily

looked forth again. He was standing near the fire, his back toward her,

looking off into the night.

The wind was growing stronger; the breezes fanned the night into a rush

of shivery coolness. Constant flickerings of lightning illuminated the

forest, transforming the tree-tops into great black waves. Tall reeds

along the river bank began to bend their tops, to swing themselves

gently to and from the wind. In the lowlands down from the cave "will o'

the wisps" played tag with "Jack o' the lanterns," merrily scampering

about in the blackness, reminding her of the revellers in a famous

Brocken scene. Low moans grew out of the havoc, and voices seemed to

speak in unintelligible whispers to the agitated twigs and leaves. The

secrets of the wind were being spread upon the records of the night;

tales of many climes passed through the ears of Nature.




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