“Och-hone! Ow-oo!” howled Judith, running after them. “Sure will the two iv ye lave me here, to be sthruck down alone wid the lightening, and all for the sake iv a haythen iv a pirate? Faix, if ye must return good for avil to yer enemies, ye needn’t do it by returning avil for good to yer friends, sure.” Britomarte, unmindful of the storm that must have iron stove, went to work and prepared a bowl of nice hot gruel, which Justin took to the sick man. After that, Justin, with the help of Judith, moved the sofa from the parlor into his room, for his own accommodation, while the pirate occupied his bed. And then, though the storm was still raging with tremendous violence, Justin persuaded Britomarte and Judith to retire, assuring them that they would be safer from the lightning in bed than anywhere else. The storm raged through all the night. The two women suffered great disturbance in their sleep. At one moment they thought the tremendous thunderbolts that fell so near must crash through roof and ceiling, and bury them in the ruins of their dwelling; at another, that the wild wind which howled along the heavens must lift their frail house, with all its inhabitants, and hurl it away before the furious hurricane; at another, that the heavy sea which cannonaded the rocks below must rise and overwhelm their home, and bear it off to destruction. But the mad night of tempest and terror passed at last. Neither Judith nor Britomarte knew exactly when they dropped asleep, except that it must have been near day, when the storm had expended its violence, and they had exhausted their strength with watching. It was late in the morning when Britomarte awoke. She arose without disturbing Judith, who was still sleeping. She opened the blinds and looked out. The sky was clear and bright, and the sun was shining down upon a green and smiling land. The sea, indeed, was still high and foaming. But a thousand birds were singing their morning songs of joy at the passing of the storm. At first, dazzled by the brilliancy of the scene, Britomarte saw nothing of the damage that had been done. But as her vision cleared, she saw that trees had been torn up by the roots, or blown down, or shred of their branches that strewed the ground. Their outhouses and fences, indeed, for their very lowliness, had escaped the fury of the storm, and were standing safe. Such was the aspect of the land. The sea, as far as the eye could reach, was one vast expanse of foam; but it was evidently subsiding. While Britomarte gazed from the window, Judith awoke with a start, exclaiming: “Lorrd forgive me, ma’am, are you up, and meself snoring away here in bed? Why didn’t ye call me, sure?” And with that she jumped up and began to dress herself in great haste. “There was no such imminent need to break your rest after such a night of disturbance, Judith,” said Miss Conyers, leaving the window and beginning her own morning toilet.