At intervals that grew shorter, and with a grave face that became more anxious, Mrs. Ritson walked to the door and looked out into the thickening sky. The young people had been too much absorbed to notice her increasing perturbation, until she opened a clothes-chest and took out dry flannels and spread them on the hearth to air. "Don't worrit yourself, mother," said Paul. "He'll be here soon. He had to cross the Coledale Pass, and that's a long stroke of the ground, you know." "It's an hour past supper-time," said Mrs. Ritson, glancing aside at the old clock that ticked audibly from behind the great arm-chair. "The rain is coming again--listen!" There was a light patter of rain-drops against the window-panes. "If he's on the fells now he'll be wet to the skin." "I wish I'd gone in place of him," said Paul, turning to Greta. "A bad wetting troubles him nowadays. Not same as of old, when he'd follow the fells all day long knee-deep in water and soaked to the skin with rain or snow." The thunder-clap shook the house. The windows rattled, and the lamp that had been newly lighted and put on the table flickered slightly and burned red. "Mercy, me, what a night! Was that a flash of lightning?" said Mrs. Ritson, and she walked to the door once more and opened it. "Don't worrit, mother," repeated Paul. "Do come in. Father will be here soon, and if he gets a wetting there's no help for it now." Paul had turned aside from an animated conversation with Greta to interpolate this remonstrance against his mother's anxiety. Resuming the narrative of his wrestling match, he described its incidents as much by gesture as by words. "John Proudfoot took me--so--and tried to give me the cross-buttock, but I caught his eye and twisted him on my hip--so--and down he went in a bash!" A hurried knock came to the outer door. In an instant it was opened, and a white face looked in. "What's now, Reuben?" said Paul, rising to his feet. "Come along with me--leave the women-folk behind--master's down--the lightning has struck him--I'm afeart he's dead!" "My father!" said Paul, and stood for a moment with a bewildered look. "Go on, Reuben, I'll follow." Paul picked up his hat and was gone in an instant. Mrs. Ritson had been stooping over the griddle when Reuben entered. She heard what he said, and rose up with a face of death-like pallor. But she said nothing, and sunk helplessly into a chair. Then Greta stepped up to her and kissed her. "Mother--dear mother!" she said, and Mrs. Ritson dropped her head on the girl's breast. Hugh had been sitting over some papers in his own room off the first landing. He overheard the announcement, and came into the hall. "Your father has been struck by the lightning," said Greta. "They will fetch him home," said Hugh. At the next moment there was the sound from without of burdened footsteps. They were bearing the injured man. Through the back of the house they carried him to his room.