The cloud had burst upon the _kopje_.
The thunder was drowned in the rush of the rain. It descended in a
vast sheet through which the lightning leapt and quivered. The
light of day was wholly gone.
The bungalow rocked on its foundations; the wrath of the tempest
beat around it as if it would sweep it away. The noise of the
falling rain was terrific. He wondered if the place would stand.
Gradually the first wild fury spent itself, and though the storm
continued the sky seemed to lift somewhat, to recede as if the
swollen clouds were being drawn upwards again. In the glimmering
lightning the _veldt_ shone like a sea. The water must be deep in
the hollows, and he hoped none of the sheep had been caught. The
fact that the farm was on rising ground, though it had been exposed
to the full force of the storm, had been its salvation. He thought
of the Kaffir huts, and dismissed the idea of any serious danger
there. The stables, too, were safe for the same reason. It was
only on the lower ground beyond the _kopje_ that the flood could be
formidable. He thought of the watercourse, dry for so many weeks,
now without doubt a seething torrent. He thought with a sudden
leap of memory of the hut on the sand above. . . .
"I shall go there to-day." How long was it since he had heard
those words? Had they indeed been uttered only that morning? Or
did they belong to an entirely different period of his life? He
felt as if many empty and bitter years had passed over him since
they had been spoken.
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