And such a night "she" took the road in
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.
The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed;
Loud, deep and long the thunder bellowed;
That night a child might understand
The de'il had business on his hand.
Burns
A week passed before Capitola carried her resolution of calling upon
the inmate of the Hidden House into effect. It was in fact a hot, dry,
oppressive season, the last few days of August, when all people, even
the restless Capitola, preferred the coolness and repose of indoors.
But that she should stay at home more than a week was a moral and
physical impossibility. So on Thursday afternoon, when Major Warfield
set out on horseback to visit his mill, Capitola ordered her horse
saddled and brought up that she might take an afternoon's ride.
"Now please, my dear child, don't go far," said Mrs. Condiment, "for
besides that your uncle does not approve of your riding alone, you must
hurry back to avoid the storm."
"Storm, Mrs. Condiment, why bless your dear old heart, there has not
been a storm these four weeks!" said Capitola, almost indignant that
such an absurd objection to a long ride should be raised.
"The more reason, my child, that we should have a very severe one when
it does come, and I think it will be upon us before sunset; so I advise
you to hurry home."
"Why, Mrs. Condiment, there's not a cloud in the sky."
"So much the worse, my dear! The blackest cloud that ever gathered is
not so ominous of mischief as this dull, coppery sky and still
atmosphere! And if forty years' observation of weather signs goes for
anything, I tell you that we are going to have the awfulest storm that
ever gathered in the heavens! Why, look out of that window--the very
birds and beasts know it, and instinctively seek shelter--look at that
flock of crows flying home! See how the dumb beasts come trooping
toward their sheds! Capitola, you had better give up going altogether,
my dear!"
"There! I thought all this talk tended to keeping me within doors, but
I can't stay, Mrs. Condiment! Good Mrs. Condiment, I can't!"
"But, my dear, if you should be caught out in the storm!"
"Why, I don't know but I should like it! What harm could it do? I'm not
soluble in water--rain won't melt me away! I think upon the whole I
rather prefer being caught in the storm," said Cap, perversely.