presenting white, frightened under-surfaces to the sky. Involuntarily the spectator held his breath. For a moment there seemed to be nothing to breathe.
He looked eagerly from the direction of Stratton, southward; little Troy now engulfed in the rain, was as if it did not exist. Gap Mountain was hidden. The rushing clouds at last caught the sunlight from overhead and instantly dun gray settled over all the world; nearer and nearer with a last devouring dash came the march of the rain from the direct west. He could see the downpour, still with a clean edge, come on like a consuming monster, swallowing everything in its path. The thunder was now continuous, muttering, rattling. A deep convulsive sigh came up the gorge as if Nature cried, "At last!" Now came the curious slight scampering patter of the advance guard of drops on the quivering mat of leaves far below; a strange icy gust of wind cleft its way to the peak; a deluging rush up the rocky sides—and the storm was upon
