“I tell you it won’t hurt,” said Bevis, quite sure, because his governor had said so. But when they had walked up the field and were quite away from the house and the trees which partly obstructed the view, he was amazed at the spectacle, for all the meadow was lit up; and in the sky the streamers of flame rose in and out and over each other, till you could not tell which flash was which in the confusion of lightning. Bevis became silent and fell into one of his dream states, when, as Mark said, he was like a tree. He was lost--something seemed to take him out of himself. He walked on, and they went with him, till he came to the gate opening on the shore of the New Sea. “O, look!” they all said at once. All the broad, still water, smooth as glass, shone and gleamed, reflecting back the bright light above; and far away they saw the wood (where Bevis and Mark once wandered) as plain as at noontide. “I can’t go home to-night,” said Phil. Val Crassus said he could sleep at his house, which was much nearer; but he, too, hesitated to start. “It _is_ awful,” said Mark. “It’s nothing,” said Bevis. “I like it.” The continuous crackling of the thunder just then deepened, and a boom came rolling down the level water from the wooded hill. Bevis frowned, and held his lips tight together. He was startled, but he would not show it. “I’ll go with you,” he said; and though Mark pointed out that they would have to come back by themselves, he insisted. They went with Pompey’s lieutenants till Val’s house, lit up by lightning, was in sight; then they returned. As they came into the garden, Bevis said the battle ought to be that night, because it would read so well in the history afterwards. The lightning continued far into the night, and still flashed when sleep overcame them. Next morning Bevis sprang up and ran to the window, afraid it might be wet; but the sun was shining and the wind was blowing tremendously, so that all the willows by the brook looked grey as their leaves were turned, and the great elms by the orchard bowed to the gusts. “It’s dry,” shouted Bevis, dancing. “Hurrah!” said Mark, and they sang,-- “Kyng Estmere threwe his harpe asyde, And swith he drew his brand.” This was the day of the great battle, and they were impatient for the evening. There was a letter on the breakfast-table from Bevis’s grandpa, enclosing a P.O.O., a present of a sovereign for him. He asked the governor to advance him the money in two half-sovereigns. The governor did so, and Bevis immediately handed one of them to Mark.