a station
quite near Chellaston before he allowed himself to be taken out of the
train and housed for the night in a railway inn. In his nervous state
the ordeal of meeting fresh friends seemed as great, indeed, as that
involved in the remaining journey. So it came to pass that at dusk on
that same evening, Alec Trenholme, having put his friend to bed, joined
the loungers on the railway platform in front of the inn, and watched
lightning vibrate above the horizon, and saw its sheet-like flames light
up the contour of Chellaston Mountain. He did not know what hill it was;
he did not know precisely where he was in relation to his brother's
home; but he soon overheard the name of the hill from two men who were
talking about it and about the weather.

"How far to Chellaston?" asked Alec.

They told him that it was only nine miles by road, but the railway went
round by a junction.

Alec began to consider the idea of walking over, now that he had
disposed of Bates for the night.

"Is the storm coming this way?" he said.

The man who had first answered him pointed to another. "This gentleman,"
he said, "has just come from Chellaston."

As the remark did not seem to be an answer to his question about the
weather, Alec waited to hear its application. It followed.

The first man drew a little nearer. "He's been telling us that the
Adventists--that means folks that are always expecting the end of the
world--all about Chellaston believe the end's coming to-night."

Alec made an exclamation. It was a little like hearing that some one
sees a ghost at your elbow. The idea of proximity is unpleasant, even to
the incredulous. "Why to-night?" he asked.

"Well, I'll say this much of the notion's come true," said the native of
Chellaston hastily--"it's awful queer weather--not that I believe it
myself," he added.

"Has the weather been so remarkable as to make them think that?" asked
Alec.

"'Tain't the weather _made_ them think it. He only said the weather
weren't unlike as if it were coming true." As the first man said this,
he laughed, to explain that he had nothing to do with the tale or its
credence, but the very laugh betrayed more of a tendency to dislike the
idea than perfect indifference to it would have warranted.

In defiance of this laugh the Chellaston man made further explanation.
He said the religious folks said it was clearly written in the Book of
Daniel (he pronounced it Dannel); if you made the days it ta