HIGHLANDS 255 
around Whiteside. A great bird dropped suddenly 
out of the sky with half-closed wings and disap- 
peared in a cleft of the rocks. There was something 
about the arrow-like descent of that bird into the 
mountain that made you feel uneasy and you hurried 
down, but before you got to the bench, the storm 
was muttering and clouds were boiling over the 
whole sky. 
It seemed better now to wait until the storm was 
over than to risk driving through the woods. What 
happened next is difficult to describe. When the 
storm struck, you found yourself holding your large 
black horse by the halter, the mountain woman who 
had brought you there clinging to the other horse. 
At each crash of thunder the frightened animals 
plunged and reared, but when the one you held came 
down, it laid its quivering nostrils against your 
cheek, as though begging forgiveness and imploring 
you to save it. The lightning seemed pouring out of 
the clouds as from some devil's caldron. At each 
deafening explosion it was seen darting in all direc- 
tions over the stony floor. Electrical fire fell about 
us like rain. The metal parts of the carriage were 
struck, strange electrical thrills coursed through our 
nerves. Rain fell in torrents icy cold, while an icy 
wind drove it against us in lines almost parallel to 
the earth, and threatened to sweep us over the cliff. 
It would have been dark almost as night but for the 
constant play of the pallid lightning. The face of the 
woman who, a little way off was clinging to her horse, 
was ghastly green in color; — "Are we dying?" 
