k of the lordly home. The castle now stood before him
in a crimson glow; every window-pane seemed on fire, and the red roses
lay like drops of blood upon the dark green climbers beneath. And nearer
and nearer rolled on the black clouds, as if to shroud the bright pile
from sight. Not a leaf stirred, not a ripple curled the water. The baron
looked down into the water for some living thing, a spider, a
dragon-fly, and started back from the pale face that met him, and which
at first he did not recognize as his own. There was a sultry, boding,
listless gloom over his heart, as over all nature.

Suddenly a strange shivering sound in the tree-tops--a signal to the
storm. Again a pause, and then down rushed the mighty wind, bending the
trees, curling the lake, driving the dust in wild whirls along. The
bright light faded from the castle, and all the landscape toned down
into bluish gray. Then forked lightning, and a long and solemn peal.

The baron drew himself up to his full height, and turned to meet the
storm. Leaves and branches flew round him, big drops fell on his head,
but he kept looking up at the clouds, and at the lightning that flashed
from them, as though expecting a decision from on high.

Then came the galloping of a horse's feet, and a gay voice cried out,
"Father!" A young cavalry officer had drawn up beside him.

"My son! my beloved son!" cried the baron, with a quivering voice; "you
are come at the right time;" and he clasped the youth to his heart, and
then held his hands and looked long into his face. All indecision, all
mournful forebodings were over; he felt again as the head of his house
should feel. Before him stood, blooming in youth and health, the future
of his family. He took it as an omen, as the voice of fate to him in the
hour of decision. "And now," said he, "come home; there is no further
need for our remaining in the rain."

While the baroness drew her son down by her on the sofa, and never
wearied of looking at and admiring him, the baron sat at the window and
watched the torrents of rain. Brighter grew the flashes, and shorter the
interval between them and the thunder's roll.

"Shut the window," said she; "the storm comes this way."

"It will do our house no harm," replied her husband, encouragingly. "The
conductor stands firm on the roof, and shines through the clouds. And
now look there where the clouds are blackest, behind those bright green
ash-trees."

"I see the spot," returned