Then, stimulated by a new thought, he began to walk faster.  He hurried on until he came to the middle of the flats; then, gropingly through the darkness, and swiftly through the light, he made his way to a gate that he had just seen standing high and solid between the low field banks.  He climbed the gate, a leg on each side, to the top bar but one; and there, easily balancing himself, he stood high above every other object.

And he thought:  “If I am to be killed, I shall be killed now.  I stand here at God’s pleasure, to take me or leave me.”

He carefully observed the lightning.  It fell like a live shot, a discharge of artillery aimed at a fixed point, and then bursting seemed to go out in all directions till it faded with a widespread glare.  During this final glare after each discharge the land to its farthest horizon leaped into view.  Thus he saw all at once the Baptist Chapel several hundred yards away, but seeming to be close ahead of him, much bigger than it actually was, looking familiar and yet strange—­looking like the ark waiting to be floated as soon as the deluge should begin.  At the same moment he saw the stones in the road, blades of grass at the side of the ditch, and nails on the gate-post near his foot.

He stood calmly surveying the tremendous pageant, and thought in each roar and crash:  “This must be the climax.”

That last flash had crimson streamers, and it swamped the road with violet waves.  The fury and the splendor of the thing was overwhelming.  Was it brought about by Nature’s forces or God’s machinery?  Titanic—­like a struggle between the divine and the evil power—­some fresh rebellion of Satan just reported up there, and God, rightly indignant, giving the devil what for—­or God angry with man!  Very magnificent, whatever way you regarded it.

The worst was over, and gradually the storm began to roll away.  Holding his hands high above his head, he felt the rain-drops beat upon them, saw the lightning soften and grow pale, heard the thunder booming more gently, grumbling, whispering—­as if it had been the voice of the Maker of heaven and earth, murmuring in sleep.

Such a storm had naturally disturbed everything.  Mavis and Norah were trembling on the lamplit threshold; horses rattled their head-stalls and stamped in the stables; even the bees were frightened in their hives.  And a cock, thinking that so much light and noise must mean morning, had begun to crow hours before the proper time.

Dale, listening to the cock’s crow while he told Mavis he was safe and sound, thought of Peter, the well-meaning man who wanted to believe but could not always do so.

XX

When the time came for Dale to be baptized Mr. Osborn offered to perform the ceremony at dawn in the stream that runs through Hadleigh Wood; but Dale refused the offer.  He said he would much prefer to have it done within four walls, in the evening, at what he supposed to be the usual place, the chapel.  He added an expression of the hope that there would not be many people there.