of mystified anxiety. Twice in the course of the morning she had caught his eye following her with a gleam of sardonic exultancy, as though he nursed some secret of extraordinary potentialities. She was oppressed by a great uneasiness.
Perhaps (she reasoned) the weather was responsible for this feeling. The day had been unconscionably hot, without a breath of air. Now, as it drew toward its close, its heat seemed to become more and more oppressive even as its light was darkened by a vast pall of inky cloud shouldering up over the mountains to the music of distant rumblings.
Within another ten minutes the man Judith loved with all her body and soul would be the husband of her sister. She had told herself she was resigned, but she was not, and she would never be. Her heart was breaking in her bosom as she sat there, listening to the ever-heavier detonations of the approaching thunderstorm and to the jubilant pealing of a great organ down below.
She had told herself that, though resigned, she could not bear to witness the ceremony. Now as the moment drew near she found herself unable to endure the strain alone.
Slowly, against her will, she rose and stole across the floor to her father's chair.
His breathing was slow and regular, beyond doubt he slept; there was no reason why she should not
