It was very dark then, and every
moment white and red forks of lightning tore across the clouds,
opening the skies and at the same time illuminating our faces and the
dark world without. Aniela was calm, but seemed every moment more
desirable.
"Are you afraid?" I whispered.
"No."
"Give me your hand."
She looked at me wonderingly. Another moment and I should have folded
her in my arms and pressed my lips against hers, and then let Ploszow
be razed to the ground, by the tempest. But she was terrified, not by
the storm, but by the expression of my face and that whisper; she drew
back from the window and returned to the room where the elder ladies
were sitting.
I remained alone,--with a feeling of anger and humiliation. That I
should have taken advantage of Aniela's confidence is quite certain,
and yet I felt offended by her want of trust, and resolved to pay her
out in some way. I stood for an hour at the window looking absently at
the lightning flashes. Then it grew lighter and lighter outside; at
last the clouds parted, and the sun shone forth fresh and bright and
as if wondering at the devastation the tempest had wrought.
It was very considerable; the avenues were still flooded with yellow,
foaming water, above which floated broken branches. Here and there big
trees were lying about, snapped across or torn out by the roots; the
bark was partly stripped from the trunks of pine trees, leaving what
looked like gaping wounds.
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