Thank God, it is passing over at last. It did not last long, but while it did last it was terrible! Now it gets lighter and lighter. The blue sky peeps out gradually larger and larger on the western horizon--the direction from which the storm had come--at last, even the sun comes out again. And everything peeps forth again. The lambs begin to play, the calves gallop and frolic about, the birds sing merrier than ever; and the trees--they can only weep tears of joy that the cruel wind does not bend them down so cruelly any more. Now the storm is raging towards the east, its distant rumbling is heard, and the clouds look piled up in black and blue masses in that direction. Now our party is able to walk again; the water has gathered in the hollows and rivulets. By choosing high ground, progress can be made. They were nearing the house when they saw a man approaching towards them in a slanting direction. What can be the matter with him? Surely such a storm was sufficient to sober the most intoxicated man on earth? And yet this fellow must be drunk. See how he staggers; sometimes he drops on to his knees, and clasps his head between his hands, and even at this distance they can hear him sob as if his heart was breaking. He rises once more, sees them approaching now near by, he cries out aloud, stretches his arms towards them in a supplicating manner. They hear the agonising words escape from him. Oh, my brother? The old man turns as pale as death. He recognises his eldest son, as did the rest. Oom Ignatious rushes forward; he reaches his son just as he drops down in a dead faint. His father lifts him, holds him in his lap, and cries,-- ‘Oh, my son, my son, what has happened? Oh, my God, see how he is scorched! Oh, horrible, his clothes are crumbling as if burnt; his skin comes off. Oh, my God, have pity upon a poor father, and spare my son.’ The young man opens his eyes once more and murmurs, ‘My brother, my brother,’ ‘Where is your brother, Ignatious?’ ‘Over there,’ he replied, pointing to a round hill commanding the rest of the valley. ‘I’ll go to him,’ said the old man. ‘Is he hurt, too?’ ‘No, father, you must not go. Steve will go with his friends. You must go with me to mother to prepare her for the terrible tidings.’ ‘What terrible tidings? Ignatious, that you are wounded?’ queried the old man. ‘No, father. I am terribly scorched, but I may yet recover; but poor Daniel--oh, my father, that I should live and he die when we were side by side.’ ‘What--dead!--dead!--my Daniel dead? You cannot know what you are saying; you are delirious from your wounds.’ ‘No, my dear father, I fear me he is dead. Take courage; you must be strong and help us to comfort mother; come.’ The old man seemed to make a strong effort, rose and helped to raise Ignatious. ‘You are right, my son. Your mother must be our first care; come.’