Trembling, she hid
her face. The world seemed to rock all around her. For the first time
she was conscious of fear.
Then as the thunder died into a distant roar, the heavens opened as if
at a word of command, and in one marvellous, glittering sheet the rain
burst forth.
She lifted her head to gaze upon this new wonder that the incessant
lightning revealed. The noise was like the sharp rattle of musketry,
and it almost drowned the heavier artillery overhead. The window was
blurred and streaming, but the brilliance outside was such that every
detail in the little garden was clear to her notwithstanding. And
though she still trembled, she nerved herself to look forth.
An instant later she sprang backwards with a wild cry of terror.
A face--a wrinkled face that she knew--was there close against the
window-pane, and had looked into her own.
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE LIFTING OF THE MASK
Out of a curious numbness that had almost been a swoon there came to
her the consciousness of a hand that rapped and rapped and rapped
upon the pane. She had fled away to the farther end of the room in her
panic. She had turned the lamp low at the beginning of the storm, and
now it burned so dimly that it scarcely gave out any light at all.
Beyond the window, the lightning flashed with an awful luridness
upon the rushing hail.
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