“I think you are in more danger from damp clothing than from the thunderbolts, Judith. Go and change,” said Miss Conyers. “If we had only a blessed candle itself, this haythen iv a storm couldn’t hurt us,” whimpered Judith. “You have your Heavenly Father, who is the Lord of the heavens and the earth. Appeal to Him. It is an awful storm!” said Miss Conyers, as another blinding flash of lightning pierced every crevice of the closed house, and another peal of thunder rolled and crashed over their heads, and died away in the distance. Judith told her beads as fast as she could pass them through her fingers. She was shivering alike with terror of the tempest and chilliness from her wet clothes. And Britomarte again urged her to go and change them. “Sure I daresn’t lave the room. If I’m to be sthruck down dead, I’d like to be wid some one to pick me up and spake a good worrd to me parting sperrit,” moaned the panic-stricken girl. “Come, Judith, if you are afraid to go alone, I will attend you with pleasure,” said Miss Conyers, kindly. But just as she spoke Justin Rosenthal opened the door and entered the room. “I have come to explain to you how I happened to bring this man home,” he said. Before Britomarte could answer, another thunderbolt fell, seeming to shake the very island from its foundation. When the noise of the report had rolled away, Justin repeated his words, and Britomarte answered: “Oh, Justin! as if the humane act of bringing a wretched man in out of a storm like this required any explanation among Christians.” “But has it not occurred to you that I might have put him into one of the caverns?” “Perhaps you came upon him at some distance from the mountain.” “Yes, that was just the case. I met him near the house, just before I met Judith. He was wet to the skin, shivering with cold, and tottering with weakness. I think that he is very ill. I have brought him in, taken off his fetters and his wet garments, and given him a change of dry clothes and put him on my bed.” “You did right, dear Justin, quite right. I could not like you if you could treat even a bad man badly,” said Miss Conyers. “Sure the wicked should be thrated according to their wickedness,” put in Judith. “If that were the rule, which of us would go unpunished?” inquired Miss Conyers. Again a blaze of lightning, a crash of thunder, a blast of wind and a torrent of rain suspended their conversations. When this burst of the storm was over, Justin said: “Now, as soon as possible, I want Judith to prepare some gruel, or panado, or broth, or whatever is good for a sick man.” “Troth, Judith, will set him up with it, and you, too. Divil a bit iv me will stir a fut to go nigh the iron stove in this baste of a storm, for any cause, at all, at all, let alone to make gruel for a murthering divil like that, which same would be a timpting iv Providence,” said Judith, obstinately. “I will go,” said Miss Conyers, and she arose to leave the room, followed by Justin.