Аня з Авонлеї
XXIV. A Prophet in His Own Country
Astheydashedintothekitchenthelightseemedtovanish,asifblownoutbysomemightybreath;theawfulcloudrolledoverthesunandadarknessasoflatetwilightfellacrosstheworld.Atthesamemoment,withacrashofthunderandablindingglareoflightning,thehailswoopeddownandblottedthelandscapeoutinonewhitefury.
Throughalltheclamorofthestormcamethethudoftornbranchesstrikingthehouseandthesharpcrackofbreakingglass.Inthreeminuteseverypaneinthewestandnorthwindowswasbrokenandthehailpouredinthroughtheaperturescoveringthefloorwithstones,thesmallestofwhichwasasbigasahen’segg.Forthreequartersofanhourthestormragedunabatedandnoonewhounderwentiteverforgotit.Marilla,foronceinherlifeshakenoutofhercomposurebysheerterror,kneltbyherrockingchairinacornerofthekitchen,gaspingandsobbingbetweenthedeafeningthunderpeals.Anne,whiteaspaper,haddraggedthesofaawayfromthewindowandsatonitwithatwinoneitherside.Davyatthefirstcrashhadhowled,“Anne,Anne,isittheJudgmentDay?Anne,Anne,Inevermeanttobenaughty,”andthenhadburiedhisfaceinAnne’slapandkeptitthere,hislittlebodyquivering.Dora,somewhatpalebutquitecomposed,satwithherhandclaspedinAnne’s,quietandmotionless.ItisdoubtfulifanearthquakewouldhavedisturbedDora.
Then,almostassuddenlyasitbegan,thestormceased.
