"Well, my dear, what is it? I see nothing. It is a little dark!"
"Dark!" said the other. "You call that dark! Why, why, it is black—black!"
The nurse drew her softly backwards to the chair, turning her from the window. She recognised nervous fear; but no more than that. But Mabel tore herself free, and wheeled again.
"You call that a little dark," she said. "Why, look, sister, look!"
Yet there was nothing remarkable to be seen. In front rose up the feathery hand of an elm, then the shuttered windows across the court, the roof, and above that the morning sky, a little heavy and dusky as before a storm; but no more than that.
"Well, what is it, my dear? What do you see?"
"Why, why ... look! look!—There, listen to that."
A faint far-away rumble sounded as the rolling of a waggon—so faint that it might almost be an aural delusion. But the girl's hands were at her ears, and her face was one white wide-eyed mask of terror. The nurse threw her arms round her.
"My dear," she said, "you are not yourself. That is nothing but a little heat-thunder. Sit down quietly."
She could feel the girl's body shaking beneath her hands, but there was no resistance as she drew her to the chair.
"The lights! the lights!" sobbed Mabel.
"Will you promise me to sit quietly, then?"
She nodded; and the nurse went across to the door, smiling tenderly; she had seen such things before. A moment later the room was full of exquisite sunlight, as she
