“Oh! Just think, dear lady,” said the maid, who had drawn nearer the strong man since the lightning bolt. “We haven’t touched the luncheon I have in the basket.” “Oho, it grows heavy, does it, Mary?” “No, no; that isn’t it. And yet,” she confessed, after a momentary pause, “it is pretty heavy, come to carry it so far.” “Well, we’ll empty it at the chapel.” But Percy took the basket into his own hand, despite the maid’s earnest protestations, and he found it heavier than he had thought. It was but as a feather to him, but he could feel that it must have pulled on the weak girl during so long a walk. “Ho! There it is!” “Aye, and here is the rain.” It was the chapel which Cordelia had discovered, and they reached it with not a moment to spare, for scarcely had Mary crossed the threshold when the rain came down in a torrent. As the maid expressed it, with more of truth than poetry--it came down “like they were pouring it out of a tub.” But they had found perfect shelter, though somewhat gloomsome. Percy selected three of the most comfortable seats he could find, and he did not have occasion to move them. They were already in the corner farthest away from the storm--in a corner between the arch of the vestibule and the first window on the easterly side. And there in the deepening gloom Cordelia opened the basket, and took out a portion of the provisions she had with her own hands packed into it. She had brought but one drinking-cup, but it answered every purpose. “We can call it ‘the Loving Cup,’” suggested the maid, little dreaming what chords she was touching to tuneful response in the bosoms of her two companions. But the others knew, as a hidden hand-grasp testified. “Now, mark!” commanded the lady, as Percy began to express his regrets at the unfortunate situation of the two women, “Mark what I say, and remember, we will have not a word of fault-finding, not a word of complaint. Here we are, and here we must make the best of it. It is all my fault, every bit and grain of it, and I am willing to bear the blame; but don’t blame me too severely.” “Mercy! how it pours!” exclaimed the maid. “I am only thinking--how shall we ever find the way home in pitch darkness?” Percy said, cheerfully, he thought there would be no trouble about that. “These sort of storms,” he went on, “are not of long duration. The clouds will soon pass off when the rain is done falling, and then we’ll have a moon within a day or two of its full to light us on our homeward way. My only serious thought is of the good old earl.” “Hush!” cried the law-giver, with a light laugh. “That is complaint, and is forbidden. I will make it all right with dear old grandpa.” The rain continued to fall in a torrent, ever and anon the lightning gleamed and the thunder came crashing down upon the solid roof.