many from their houses close
at hand, without hats--to look up at that quarter of the sky. And now a
very few large drops of rain began to fall, and thunder rumbled in the
distance.

Jonas sat in a corner of the carriage with his bottle resting on his
knee, and gripped as tightly in his hand as if he would have ground its
neck to powder if he could. Instinctively attracted by the night, he
had laid aside the pack of cards upon the cushion; and with the same
involuntary impulse, so intelligible to both of them as not to occasion
a remark on either side, his companion had extinguished the lamp. The
front glasses were down; and they sat looking silently out upon the
gloomy scene before them.

They were clear of London, or as clear of it as travellers can be whose
way lies on the Western Road, within a stage of that enormous city.
Occasionally they encountered a foot-passenger, hurrying to the nearest
place of shelter; or some unwieldy cart proceeding onward at a heavy
trot, with the same end in view. Little clusters of such vehicles were
gathered round the stable-yard or baiting-place of every wayside tavern;
while their drivers watched the weather from the doors and open windows,
or made merry within. Everywhere the people were disposed to bear each
other company rather than sit alone; so that groups of watchful faces
seemed to be looking out upon the night AND THEM, from almost every
house they passed.

It may appear strange that this should have disturbed Jonas, or rendered
him uneasy; but it did. After muttering to himself, and often changing
his position, he drew up the blind on his side of the carriage, and
turned his shoulder sulkily towards it. But he neither looked at his
companion, nor broke the silence which prevailed between them, and which
had fallen so suddenly upon himself, by addressing a word to him.

The thunder rolled, the lightning flashed; the rain poured down like
Heaven's wrath. Surrounded at one moment by intolerable light, and
at the next by pitchy darkness, they still pressed forward on their
journey. Even when they arrived at the end of the stage, and might have
tarried, they did not; but ordered horses out immediately. Nor had this
any reference to some five minutes' lull, which at that time seemed to
promise a cessation of the storm. They held their course as if they were
impelled and driven by its fury. Although they had not exchanged a dozen
words, and might have tarried very well, they s