“What are you watching so earnestly, Captain?” she said presently.  “No boats, I hope?”

“No, no boats! we may have a shower by-and-bye; but I hope we shall get home in time.”

It was a curious sky that Roger was watching.  The day had been smoky throughout, with ragged brown clouds hanging about the horizon, and thunder muttering low in the distance.  The smoky fringe might well come from the forest fires which were raging in a neighbouring district, Roger thought, and the thunder was an every-day matter of hot weather; but now the clouds were beginning to thicken at one point, and their ragged edges turned to firmer roundings, and their hue was fast deepening to black.  Roger paddled with strong, even strokes, and the canoe flew over the water.  The distant thunder-growl took on a more insistent voice, and every now and then came a long rolling note, which seemed to pass on and over their heads.

“‘Hear now how dey roll de great balls about,’” quoted Hildegarde.  “If we were in the Catskills, we might look out for Hendrik Hudson and his men, after such a peal as that.”

“I am afraid we may have to look out for ourselves!” said Roger, laughing.  “I begin to feel rather doubtful about getting home before the storm, Miss Hilda.”

“It is growing dark, isn’t it?” said Hilda, innocently.  “Will it be much of a shower, do you think, Captain?”

“Well,—­I think we may observe slight alterations in the atmospheric conditions.  You are not afraid of a squall?”

“No, indeed! only tell me what I must do.”

“Nothing but sit still—­the hardest thing for some people to do; but I have noticed that you are not fidgety.  Is your hat securely fastened?”

“As securely as my head!”

“That is well.  Stand by, then, and be ready, for it is coming pretty near.”

Roger was used to every variety of weather, but he had been wholly unprepared for the velocity of the storm which was moving down the lake.  The clouds, which, a moment before, it seemed, had been merely a thickening of the general smoky condition, were now gathered into a heavy mass, dense blackness fringed with a misty gleam.  It came sweeping over the water toward them, devouring the sunlight.  A rushing sound was heard, that rose into a roar.  “Steady, now!” said Roger.  “Steady, child! and don’t be frightened.  Here it comes!”

Next moment they were struck, beaten, blinded.  For a moment Hildegarde struggled for breath, so furious was the onset of the storm; she crouched low in the canoe, but remained perfectly still.  The wind tore at them as if with frantic hands that sought their life; the water hissed under them, raced past them madly.  No waves could rise under the raging gale, but black flaw after flaw flew along the surface of the lake.  The rain fell in torrents; the falling streams were caught by the wind, tossed hither and thither, twisted into fantastic shapes of spray, sent flying forward, forward with the storm.