There was a sultry, boding, listless gloom over his heart, as over all nature.
Suddenly a strange shivering sound in the tree-tops--a signal to the storm.

Again a pause, and then down rushed the mighty wind, bending the trees, curling the lake, driving the dust in wild whirls along.

The bright light faded from the castle, and all the landscape toned down into bluish gray.

Then forked lightning, and a long and solemn peal.
The baron drew himself up to his full height, and turned to meet the storm.

Leaves and branches flew round him, big drops fell on his head, but he kept looking up at the clouds, and at the lightning that flashed from them, as though expecting a decision from on high.
Then came the galloping of a horse's feet, and a gay voice cried out, "Father!" A young cavalry officer had drawn up beside him.
"My son! my beloved son!" cried the baron, with a quivering voice; "you are come at the right time;" and he clasped the youth to his heart, and then held his hands and looked long into his face.