It did not really occur to him that Rose's fancy, too, might have been awakened as his own had been, that he might cause her suffering.

It went to prove his unselfishness that, upon entering the house, and seeing Rose seated beside a window with her embroidery, his first feeling was of satisfaction that she was housed and safe from the fast-gathering storm.
Rose looked up as he entered, and smiled.
"There's a storm overhead," remarked Horace.
"Yes," said Rose.

"Aunt Sylvia has just told me I ought not to use a needle, with so much lightning.

She has been telling me about a woman who was sewing in a thunder-storm, and the needle was driven into her hand." Rose laughed, but as she spoke she quilted her needle into her work and tossed it on a table, got up, and went to the window.
"It looks almost wild enough for a cyclone," she said, gazing up at the rapid scud of gray, shell-like clouds.
"Rose, come right away from that window," cried Sylvia, entering from the dining-room.

"Only last summer a woman in Alford got struck standing at a window in a tempest." "I want to look at the clouds," said Rose, but she obeyed.
Sylvia put a chair away from the fireplace and out of any draught.
"Here," said she.