The Home of the Lion

"Do you imagine that I'm going in there while this storm rages?" Beverly
demanded, as the work progressed.

"Are you not afraid of lightning? Most young women are."

"That's the trouble. I am afraid of it. I'd much rather stay out here
where there is company. You don't mind, do you?"

"Paradise cannot be spurned by one who now feels its warmth for the
first time," said he, gallantly. "Your fear is my delight. Pray sit upon
our throne. It was once a humble carriage pail of leather, but now it is
exalted. Besides, it is much more comfortable than some of the gilded
chairs we hear about."

"You are given to irony, I fear," she said, observing a peculiar smile
on his lips.

"I crave pardon, your highness," he said, humbly "The heart of the
goat-hunter is more gentle than his wit. I shall not again forget that
you are a princess and I the veriest beggar."

"I didn't mean to hurt you!" she cried, in contrition, for she was a
very poor example of what a princess is supposed to be.

"There is no wound, your highness," he quickly said. With a mocking
grace that almost angered her, he dropped to his knee and motioned for
her to be seated. She sat down suddenly, clapping her hands to her ears
and shutting her eyes tightly. The crash of thunder that came at that
instant was the most fearful of all, and it was a full minute before she
dared to lift her lids again. He was standing before her, and there was
genuine compassion in his face. "It's terrible," he said. "Never before
have I seen such a storm. Have courage, your highness; it can last but
little longer."