Ch. 18 - The Farm-house

As the night still advanced, so did the storm increase. On the plains
in the open country its violence was most apparent. Here no living
voices jarred with the dreary music of the elements; no flaming torches
opposed the murky darkness or imitated the glaring lightning. The
thunder pursued uninterruptedly its tempest symphony, and the fierce
wind joined it, swelling into wild harmony when it rushed through the
trees, as if in their waving branches it struck the chords of a mighty
harp.

In the small chamber of the farm-house sat together Hermanric and
Antonina, listening in speechless attention to the increasing tumult of
the storm.

The room and its occupants were imperfectly illuminated by the flame of
a smouldering wood fire. The little earthenware lamp hung from its usual
place in the ceiling, but its oil was exhausted and its light was
extinct. An alabaster vase of fruit lay broken by the side of the
table, from which it had fallen unnoticed to the floor. No other
articles of ornament appeared in the apartment. Hermanric's downcast
eyes and melancholy, unchanging expressions betrayed the gloomy
abstraction in which he was absorbed. With one hand clasped in his, and
the other resting with her head on his shoulder, Antonina listened
attentively to the alternate rising and falling of the wind. Her beauty
had grown fresher and more woman-like during her sojourn at the farm-
house. Cheerfulness and hope seemed to have gained at length all the
share in her being assigned to them by nature at her birth. Even at
this moment of tempest and darkness there was more of wonder and awe
than of agitation and affright in her expression, as she sat hearkening,
with flushed cheek and brightened eye, to the progress of the nocturnal
storm.

Thus engrossed by their thoughts, Hermanric and Antonina remained silent
in their little retreat, until the reveries of both were suddenly
interrupted by the snapping asunder of the bar of wood which secured the
door of the room, the stress of which, as it bent under the repeated
shocks of the wind, the rotten spar was too weak to sustain any longer.
There was something inexpressibly desolate in the flood of rain, wind,
and darkness that seemed instantly to pour into the chamber through the
open door, as it flew back violently on its frail hinges. Antonina
changed colour, and shuddered involuntarily, as Hermanric hastily rose
and closed the door again, by detaching its rude latch from the sling
which held it when not wanted for use. He looked round the room as he
did so for some substitute for the broken bar, but nothing that was fit
for the purpose immediately met his eye, and he muttered to himself as
he returned impatiently to his seat: 'While we are here to watch it