One night a great storm blew over Lyvern, and those young ladies at Alton College who were afraid of lightning, said their prayers with some earnestness. At half-past twelve the rain, wind, and thunder made such a din that Agatha and Gertrude wrapped themselves in shawls, stole downstairs to the window on the landing outside Miss Wilson’s study, and stood watching the flashes give vivid glimpses of the landscape, and discussing in whispers whether it was dangerous to stand near a window, and whether brass stair-rods could attract lightning. Agatha, as serious and friendly with a single companion as she was mischievous and satirical before a larger audience, enjoyed the scene quietly. The lightning did not terrify her, for she knew little of the value of life, and fancied much concerning the heroism of being indifferent to it. The tremors which the more startling flashes caused her, only made her more conscious of her own courage and its contrast with the uneasiness of Gertrude, who at last, shrinking from a forked zigzag of blue flame, said: “Let us go back to bed, Agatha. I feel sure that we are not safe here.” “Quite as safe as in bed, where we cannot see anything. How the house shakes! I believe the rain will batter in the windows before--” “Hush,” whispered Gertrude, catching her arm in terror. “What was that?” “What?” “I am sure I heard the bell--the gate bell. Oh, do let us go back to bed.” “Nonsense! Who would be out on such a night as this? Perhaps the wind rang it.” They waited for a few moments; Gertrude trembling, and Agatha feeling, as she listened in the darkness, a sensation familiar to persons who are afraid of ghosts. Presently a veiled clangor mingled with the wind. A few sharp and urgent snatches of it came unmistakably from the bell at the gate of the college grounds. It was a loud bell, used to summon a servant from the college to open the gates; for though there was a porter’s lodge, it was uninhabited. “Who on earth can it be?” said Agatha. “Can’t they find the wicket, the idiots?” “Oh, I hope not! Do come upstairs, Agatha.” “No, I won’t. Go you, if you like.” But Gertrude was afraid to go alone. “I think I had better waken Miss Wilson, and tell her,” continued Agatha. “It seems awful to shut anybody out on such a night as this.” “But we don’t know who it is.” “Well, I suppose you are not afraid of them, in any case,” said Agatha, knowing the contrary, but recognizing the convenience of shaming Gertrude into silence. They listened again. The storm was now very boisterous, and they could not hear the bell. Suddenly there was a loud knocking at the house door. Gertrude screamed, and her cry was echoed from the rooms above, where several girls had heard the knocking also, and had been driven by it into the state of mind which accompanies the climax of a nightmare. Then a candle flickered on the stairs, and Miss Wilson’s voice, reassuringly firm, was heard. “Who is that?”