"Oh,—wasn't it awful?" she gasped, in smothered tones. "Are you sure?"
"I am now," he replied, "but, by Jove, I wasn't a second or two ago. Lord, I thought it was all over."
"If we could only see!" she cried nervously.
"Any how," he said, with a reassuring chuckle, "we sha'n't get wet."
By this time the roar of rain on the roof so close to their heads was deafening.
"Goodness, Eric,—it's—it's leaking here," she cried out suddenly, after a long silence.
"That's the trouble with these ramshackle old— Oh, I say, Jane, your frock! It will be ruined. My word! The confounded roof's like a sieve."
He set out,—on all fours,—cautiously to explore.
"I—I am frightfully afraid of thunder," she cried out after him, a quaver in her voice. "And, Eric, wouldn't it be dreadful if the building were to be struck by lightning and we should be found up here in this—this unexplainable loft? What could we say?"
"Nothing, dearest," he replied, consolingly. "That is, provided the lightning did its work properly. Ouch! It's all right! Don't bother, dear. Nothing but a wall. Seems dry over here. Don't move. I'll come back for you."
"It's—it's rather jolly, isn't it?" she cried nervously as his hand touched her shoulder. She grasped it eagerly. "Much jollier than if we could see." A few moments later: "Isn't it nice and dry over here. How clever of you, Eric, to find it in the dark."
On their hands and knees they had crept to the place of shelter, and were seated on a broad, substantial beam
