She was awakened in the middle of the night by the violent flapping of
her chamber door. Startled, she sat bolt upright and strained her eyes
to pierce the mysterious darkness. Aunt Fanny, on her bed of grass,
stirred convulsively, but did not awake. The blackness of the strange
chamber was broken ever and anon by faint flashes of light from without,
and she lived through long minutes of terror before it dawned upon her
that a thunderstorm was brewing. The wind was rising, and the night
seemed agog with excitement. Beverly crept from her couch and felt her
way to the fluttering doorway. Drawing aside the blanket she peered
forth into the night, her heart jumping with terror. Her highness was
very much afraid of thunder and lightning.
The fire in the open had died down until naught remained but a few
glowing embers. These were blown into brilliancy by the wind, casting a
steady red light over the scene. There was but one human figure in
sight. Beside the fire stood the tall wanderer. He was hatless and
coatless, and his arms were folded across his chest. Seemingly oblivious
to the approach of the storm, he stood staring into the heap of ashes at
his feet. His face was toward her, every feature plainly distinguishable
in the faint glow from the fire. To her amazement the black patch was
missing from the eye; and, what surprised her almost to the point of
exclaiming aloud, there appeared to be absolutely no reason for its
presence there at any time. There was no mark or blemish upon or about
the eye; it was as clear and penetrating as its fellow, darkly gleaming
in the red glow from below. Moreover, Beverly saw that he was strikingly
handsome--a strong, manly face. The highly imaginative southern girl's
mind reverted to the first portraits of Napoleon she had seen.
Suddenly he started, threw up his head and looking up to the sky uttered
some strange words. Then he strode abruptly toward her doorway. She fell
back breathless. He stopped just outside, and she knew that he was
listening for sounds from within. After many minutes she stealthily
looked forth again. He was standing near the fire, his back toward her,
looking off into the night.
The wind was growing stronger; the breezes fanned the night into a rush
of shivery coolness. Constant flickerings of lightning illuminated the
forest, transforming the tree-tops into great black waves. Tall reeds
along the river bank began to bend their tops, to swing themselves
gently to and from the wind. In the lowlands down from the cave "will o'
the wisps" played tag with "Jack o' the lanterns," merrily scampering
about in the blackness, reminding her of the revellers in a famous
Brocken scene. Low moans grew out of the havoc, and voices seemed to
speak in unintelligible whispers to the agitated twigs and leaves. The
secrets of the wind were being spread upon the records of the night;
tales of many climes passed through the ears of Nature.