“You never try, Mortimer,—you know very well you never try.” I caught the sound of muffled sobs. That sound smote dead the sharp speech that was on my lips, and I changed it to— “I’m sorry, dear,—I’m truly sorry. I never meant to act so. Come back and—” “MORTIMER!” “Heavens! what is the matter, my love?” “Do you mean to say you are in that bed yet?” “Why, of course.” “Come out of it instantly. I should think you would take some _little_ care of your life, for _my_ sake and the children’s, if you will not for your own.” “But my love—” “Don’t talk to me, Mortimer. You _know_ there is no place so dangerous as a bed, in such a thunder-storm as this,—all the books say that; yet there you would lie, and deliberately throw away your life,—for goodness knows what, unless for the sake of arguing and arguing, and—” “But, confound it, Evangeline, I’m _not_ in the bed, _now_. I’m—” [Sentence interrupted by a sudden glare of lightning, followed by a terrified little scream from Mrs. McWilliams and a tremendous blast of thunder.] “There! You see the result. Oh, Mortimer, how _can_ you be so profligate as to swear at such a time as this?” “I _didn’t_ swear. And that _wasn’t_ a result of it, any way. It would have come, just the same, if I hadn’t said a word; and you know very well, Evangeline,—at least you ought to know,—that when the atmosphere is charged with electricity—” “Oh, yes, now argue it, and argue it, and argue it!—I don’t see how you can act so, when you _know_ there is not a lightning-rod on the place, and your poor wife and children are absolutely at the mercy of Providence. What _are_ you doing?—lighting a match at such a time as this! Are you stark mad?” “Hang it, woman, where’s the harm? The place is as dark as the inside of an infidel, and—” “Put it out! put it out instantly! Are you determined to sacrifice us all? You _know_ there is nothing attracts lightning like a light. [_Fzt!—crash! boom—boloom-boom-boom!_] Oh, just hear it! Now you see what you’ve done!” “No, I _don’t_ see what I’ve done. A match may attract lightning, for all I know, but it don’t _cause_ lightning,—I’ll go odds on that. And it didn’t attract it worth a cent this time; for if that shot was levelled at my match, it was blessed poor marksmanship,—about an average of none out of a possible million, I should say. Why, at Dollymount, such marksmanship as that—” “For shame, Mortimer! Here we are standing right in the very presence of death, and yet in so solemn a moment you are capable of using such language as that. If you have no desire to—Mortimer!” “Well?” “Did you say your prayers to-night?” “I—I—meant to, but I got to trying to cipher out how much twelve times thirteen is, and—” [_Fzt!—boom-berroom-boom! bumble-umble bang_-SMASH!] “Oh, we are lost, beyond all help! How _could_ you neglect such a thing at such a time as this?”