“I have a toast to propose.”

“Hear, hear!” murmured the gentlemen, Heliobas excepted.

“To our next merry meeting!” and as she said this she kissed the rim of the cup, and made a sign as though wafting it towards her brother.

He started as if from a reverie, seized his glass, and drained off its contents to the last drop.

Everyone responded with heartiness to Zara’s toast and then Colonel Everard proposed the health of the fair hostess, which was drunk with enthusiasm.

After this Zara gave the signal, and all the ladies rose to adjourn to the drawing-room.  As I passed Heliobas on my way out, he looked so sombre and almost threatening of aspect, that I ventured to whisper: 

“Remember Azul!”

“She has forgotten me!” he muttered.

“Never—­never!” I said earnestly.  “Oh, Heliobas! what is wrong with you?”

He made no answer, and there was no opportunity to say more, as I had to follow Zara.  But I felt very anxious, though I scarcely knew why, and I lingered at the door and glanced back at him.  As I did so, a low, rumbling sound, like chariot-wheels rolling afar off, broke suddenly on our ears.

“Thunder,” remarked Mr. Challoner quietly.  “I thought we should have it.  It has been unnaturally warm all day.  A good storm will clear the air.”

In my brief backward look at Heliobas, I noted that when that far-distant thunder sounded, he grew very pale.  Why?  He was certainly not one to have any dread of a storm—­he was absolutely destitute of fear.  I went into the drawing-room with a hesitating step—­my instincts were all awake and beginning to warn me, and I murmured softly a prayer to that strong, invisible majestic spirit which I knew must be near me—­my guardian Angel.  I was answered instantly—­ my foreboding grew into a positive certainty that some danger menaced Heliobas, and that if I desired to be his friend, I must be prepared for an emergency.  Receiving this, as all such impressions should be received, as a direct message sent me for my guidance, I grew calmer, and braced up my energies to oppose something, though I knew not what.

Zara was showing her lady-visitors a large album of Italian photographs, and explaining them as she turned the leaves.  As I entered the room, she said eagerly to me: 

“Play to us, dear!  Something soft and plaintive.  We all delight in your music, you know.”

“Did you hear the thunder just now?” I asked irrelevantly.

“It was thunder?  I thought so!” said Mrs. Everard.  “Oh, I do hope there is not going to be a storm!  I am so afraid of a storm!”

“You are nervous?” questioned Zara kindly, as she engaged her attention with some very fine specimens among the photographs, consisting of views from Venice.

“Well, I suppose I am,” returned Amy, half laughing.  “Yet I am plucky about most things, too.  Still I don’t like to hear the elements quarrelling together—­they are too much in earnest about it—­and no person can pacify them.”