It was the voice of Mr Harley, he spoke in a stern tone, though with some degree of trepidation, and advanced hastily towards the window against which I leaned. The clouds had for some hours been gathering dark and gloomy. Just as Augustus had reached the place where I stood, a flash of lightning, pale, yet vivid, glanced suddenly across my startled sight, and discovered to him the object which had alarmed him. 'Emma,' said he, in a softened accent, taking my trembling and almost lifeless hand, 'how came you here, which way did you enter?' I answered not--Another flash of lightning, still brighter, blue and sulphurous, illuminated the room, succeeded by a loud and long peal of thunder. Again the heavens seemed to rend asunder and discover a sheet of livid flame--a crash of thunder, sudden, loud, short, immediately followed, bespeaking the tempest near. I started with a kind of convulsive terror. Augustus led me from the window, and endeavoured, in vain, to find the door of the library--the temporary flashes, and total darkness by which they were succeeded, dazzled and confounded the sight. I stumbled over some furniture, which stood in the middle of the room, and unable to recover my feet, which refused any longer to sustain me, sunk into the arms of Augustus, suffering him to lift me to the sopha. He seated himself beside me, the storm continued; the clouds, every moment parting with a horrible noise, discovered an abyss of fire, while the rain descended in a deluge. We silently contemplated this sublime and terrible scene. Augustus supported me with one arm, while my trembling hand remained in his. The tempest soon exhausted itself by its violence--the lightning became less fierce, gleaming at intervals--the thunder rolled off to a distance--its protracted sound, lengthened by the echoes, faintly died away; while the rain continued to fall in a still, though copious, shower. My spirits grew calmer, I gently withdrew my hand from that of Mr Harley. He once more enquired, but in a tone of greater reserve, how I had entered the room without his knowledge? I explained, briefly and frankly, my situation, and the tender motives by which I had been influenced. 'It was not possible,' added I, 'to take leave of this house _for ever_, without recalling a variety of affecting and melancholy ideas--I feel, that I have lost _my only friend_.' 'This world,' said he, 'may not unaptly be compared to the rapids on the American rivers--We are hurried, in a frail bark, down the stream--It is in vain to resist its course--happy are those whose voyage is ended!' 'My friend,' replied I in a faultering voice, 'I could teach my heart to bear your loss--though, God knows, the lesson has been sufficiently severe--but I know not how, with fortitude, to see you suffer.' 'Suffering is the common lot of humanity--but, pardon me, when I say, your conduct has not tended to lessen my vexations!'