At that moment the air suddenly turned black, and there was a blinding flash of light, a sudden roar of thunder, and all at once a great golden willow not fifty yards from where they stood seemed to shrivel before their eyes as a bolt struck it. A fearful stillness hung over the land, although the thunder bellowed overhead. Sylvia trembled, and clung to Skelton’s sinewy brown hand. “Don’t go!” she said piteously. In another instant she felt herself rushed along towards the house. She was breathless, and the wind, which had suddenly risen, blew the brim of her large hat over her eyes, but just as the rain swept down in a torrent she found herself in the Belfield hall, panting and frightened, but safe. “Now,” said Skelton coldly and with malicious satisfaction, “good-bye.” “What do you mean?” cried Sylvia, aghast. “In this rain?” “The rain is nothing,” replied Skelton, buttoning up his coat. He was vexed with her, and was sincere in meaning to go home. “But--but--you _mustn’t_ go,” said Sylvia, looking at him with terrified eyes. “Are you afraid to be alone? I will call the servants for you.” “Yes, I am afraid,” cried Sylvia desperately; “I am afraid for you.” She paused suddenly. In her nervousness and tremor and agitation she scarcely knew what she was saying; the roar of the rattling thunder almost drowned her voice; it died in her throat, and her heart fluttered wildly as Skelton suddenly seized her hand. “Are you afraid for me, dear Sylvia?” he asked. Something compelling in Skelton’s gaze forced Sylvia to raise her eyes to his, which were blacker, more lustrous, than she had ever seen them. She made no answer, but her own eyes shone with a deep, green light that was enchanting. All at once the whole world outside of Skelton seemed to slip out of sight. But Skelton felt the most delicious ease and sense of reality. That one glance revealed her whole soul to him. Here was one creature who could love him; here was that soft, human fondness of which he had known but little in his life; and he knew well enough that way lay happiness. He cast prudence and forethought and finesse to the winds. The inevitable hour had come to him as to other men. He drew her close to him, and took the great wet hat off her head and kissed her passionately a dozen times, saying some incoherent words, which nevertheless both he and Sylvia understood well enough. All at once an ineffable tenderness had possessed him; life took on another hue. The beauty of the present hour might be fleeting, but at least it was well to have known it even for a moment. The lightning continued to flash constantly in the large, dark hall, and the reverberation of the thunder was deafening, but it no longer had the power to alarm Sylvia; it is true it excited her and increased the tremor of her nerves, and made her quite unconsciously cling closely to Skelton, but it seemed to her as if they were together under the most beautiful sky and in the serenest air.