Chapter 7 - Page 2

sky grew black as pitch and the rain began to splatter down through the trees, become suddenly furtive and ghostly. Thunder rolled with menacing crashes up the valley and scattered through the woods in intermittent batteries. He stumbled blindly on, hunting for a way out, and finally, through webs of twisted branches, caught sight of a rift in the trees where the unbroken lightning showed open country. He rushed to the edge of the woods and then hesitated whether or not to cross the fields and try to reach the shelter of the little house marked by a light far down the valley. It was only half past five, but he could see scarcely ten steps before him, except when the lightning made everything vivid and grotesque for great sweeps around.
Suddenly a strange sound fell on his ears. It was a song, in a low, husky voice, a girl's voice, and whoever was singing was very close to him. A year before he might have laughed, or trembled; but in his restless mood he only stood and listened while the words sank into his consciousness:

"Les sanglots longs
Des violons
De l'automne
Blessent mon coeur
D'une langueur
Monotone."

The lightning split the sky, but the song went on without a quaver. The girl was evidently in the field and the voice seemed to come vaguely from a haystack about twenty feet in front of him.
Then it ceased: ceased and began again in a weird chant that soared and hung and fell and blended with the rain:

"Tout suffocant
Et bljme quand
Sonne l'heure
Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure...."

"Who the devil is there in Ramilly County," muttered Amory aloud, "who would deliver Verlaine in an extemporaneous tune to a soaking haystack?"
"Somebody's there!" cried the voice unalarmed. "Who are you?Manfred, St. Christopher, or Queen Victoria?" "I'm Don Juan!" Amory shouted on impulse, raising his voice above the noise of the rain and the wind. A delighted shriek came from the haystack. "I know who you areyou're the blond boy that likes 'Ulalume'I recognize your voice."
"How do I get up?" he cried from the foot of the haystack, whither he had arrived, dripping wet. A head appeared over the edgeit was so dark that Amory could just make out a patch of damp hair and two eyes that gleamed like a cat's. "Run back!" came the voice, "and jump and I'll catch your handno, not thereon the other side."
He followed directions and as he sprawled up the side, knee-deep in hay, a small, white hand reached out, gripped his, and helped him onto the top.
"Here you are, Juan," cried she of the damp hair. "Do you mind if I drop the Don?"
"You've got a thumb like mine!" he exclaimed. "And you're holding my hand, which is dangerous without seeing my face." He dropped it quickly.
As if in answer to his prayers came a flash of lightning and he looked eagerly at her who stood beside him on the soggy haystack, ten feet