A flash of lightning was the signal for the whole household to assemble, and before the low, deep bass of the distant thunder reached their ears, they were all collected within madam’s chamber and its nearest precincts. The bed was her own retreat, and she would have been glad to have given the whole family a place on it could they have found room. Amy, whose fears were scarcely less, seated herself on a low stool by the bed-side, and leaning her arms on the bed buried her face in the counterpane. Vi’let without ceremony ensconced herself in the easy-chair, rocking to and fro and groaning out at intervals, “Oh, that old witch!” while old Tabby, who did not choose to be left alone in the kitchen, crowded in by her side, and took her full share of the cushion. Not finding another low seat, Flora took the floor at the side of Miss Amy, and leaned her arms on a chair in imitation of her young mistress; and Peter placed himself at first on the top-most of the back stairs, but by degrees, as the storm increased, edged further into the apartment, and at length after a loud clap of thunder, planted himself on one leg against the side of the door, with his woolly poll half in his mistress’s chamber. John, who enjoyed a thunder-storm above all things, took his station at a window where he could best see the lightning, while his father and Mr. Wendell, a young lawyer who was an admirer of Amy, and was now added to the family party, paced up and down the long passage, extending their walk into the antechamber before-mentioned, in a corner of which Scipio had placed himself. Though the long summer twilight had but just commenced, darkness had suddenly covered the face of all things, when a dash of lightning, more intense than the sun, quivered for a moment through the passage and in the chambers, accompanied by a crash of thunder. “The massiful s’us!” groaned Vi’let. “The lawful massy!” ejaculated Flora. Poor madam could only whisper, “O dear! dear!” Amy trembled. “That’s royal!” cried John, starting up and clapping his hands. “Be silent, boy,” said his father, sternly—“is this a time—” “Mr. Fayerweather, my dear, are you sure George is safe?” madam implored. “Oh, yes, my dear,” replied her husband, “he’s safe as we all are—in the hands of Divine Providence. Peter, get candles.” A chattering of teeth was heard, but the statue did not stir from its pedestal. “Scipio, do you?” “Please, master, it’s Aunt Vi’let’s business to get ’em ready,” said Scip in a trembling voice. The worthy gentleman, not feeling himself equal to an encounter with Vi’let in such an extremity, said— “Well, it will be the shortest way to get them myself,” and made preparations to do so; at which Vi’let, safe in the easy-chair, displayed great indignation. “Why don’t you go, Scip? there’s master going himself, if I’m alive. I wish I was near you, I’d see if you didn’t stir your stumps.” A low grumble was heard from Scip in the ante-room.