Before the storm the woods are still,

All Nature drowses as in sleep;

Yet, tho' her slumbers¹ she may keep,

She feels a strange prophetic thrill,

 

Before the storm.

 

 

From heavy clouds on mount and hill,

The thunders mutter--lightnings leap,

And soon the heav'ns commence to weep,

Such strained silence augurs² ill,

 

Before the storm.

 

 

Living at Thornstream was hardly very pleasant after the interview between Sir Rupert and his daughter. Everything went on just the same, but this very calmness was a foreboding sign of a coming tempest. The baronet was deeply angered at what he considered Kaituna's feminine duplicity, but hiding all such feelings under a mask of ultra politeness, he treated her with a cold courtesy which was far more irritating to the proud spirit of the girl than any outburst of wrath³ would have been.

 

Inheriting, however, no inconsiderable portion of the paternal⁴ pride, she, on her part, treated her father with distant politeness; so these two proud spirits found themselves entirely⁵ separated, the one from the other, by the insurmountable barrier of disdainful silence, which they had each contributed to build. They lived under the same roof, they took their meals at the same table, they interchanged the usual remarks concerning daily events, and, to all outward appearances, were the same to one another as they had ever been; but it was far from being the case, for the confidence of the father in the daughter, of the daughter in the father, had entirely disappeared, and they regarded one another with mutual⁶ distrust.

 

It was certainly a very unhappy state of things, and was entirely due to the peculiar⁷ views held by Sir Rupert, regarding his bearing towards his womankind. Had he interviewed Maxwell personally, and judged for himself as to his fitness to become the husband of his daughter--had he spoken of the matter to Kaituna in a

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