Although unusually brave for so young a person, Regina had been completely terrified, and she lay dumb and motionless, still clinging to the altar railing.  At last, when the wind left the war to the thunder and the rain, Hero, who had been quite until now, began to bark violently, left her side, and ran to and fro, now and then uttering a peculiar sound, which with him always indicated delight.  His subtle instinct was stronger than her hope, and as she raised herself into a sitting posture she saw that he had sprung upon the top of one of the side aisle pews, and thence into the window, which had been left open by the sexton.  Here he lingered as if irresolute, and in an agony of dread at the thought of being deserted, she cried out: 

“Here, Hero!  Come back!  Hero, don’t leave me to die alone.”

He whined in answer, and barked furiously as if to reassure her; then the whole church was illumined with a lurid glory that seemed to scorch the eyeballs with its intolerable radiance, and in it she saw the white figure of the dog plunge into the blackness beyond.

She knew the worst was over, unless the lightning killed her, for the wind had ceased, and the walls were still standing; but the atmosphere was thick with dust, and redolent of lime, and she conjectured that the plastering in the gallery had fallen, though the tremendous crash portended something more serious.  She tried to stand up by steadying herself against the balustrade, but the foot refused to sustain her weight, and she sank back into her former crouching posture, feeling very desolate, but tearless and quiet as one of the apostolic figures that looked pityingly upon her whenever the lightning smote through them.

She turned her head, so that at every flash she could gaze upon the placid face of the beatified Christ floating above the pulpit; and in the intense intervening darkness tried to possess her soul in patience, thinking of the mercy of God and the love of her mother.

She knew not how long Hero had left her, for pain and terror are not accurate chronometers, but after what appeared a weary season of waiting, she started when his loud bark sounded under the window, through which he had effected his exit.  She tried to call him, but her throat was dry and parched, and her foot throbbed and ached so painfully, that she dreaded making any movement.  Then a voice always pleasant to her ears, but sweeter now than an archangel’s, shouted above the steady roar of the rain: 

“Regina!  Regina!”

She rose to her knees, and with a desperate exertion of lungs and throat, answered: 

“I am here!  Mr. Lindsay, I am here!”

Remembering that words ending in o were more readily distinguished at a distance, she added: 

“Hero!  Oh, Hero!”

His frantic barking told her that she had been heard, and then through the window came once more the music of the loved voice.