Hudson, who was being
carried out of the room in a swoon by two stout maid-servants, with Mary
Garland forcing a passage. He rendered what help he could, but when they
had laid the poor woman on her bed, Miss Garland motioned him away.
"I think you make her worse," she said.
Rowland went to his own chamber. The partitions in Swiss mountain-inns
are thin, and from time to time he heard Mrs. Hudson moaning, three
rooms off. Considering its great fury, the storm took long to expend
itself; it was upwards of three hours before the thunder ceased. But
even then the rain continued to fall heavily, and the night, which had
come on, was impenetrably black. This lasted till near midnight. Rowland
thought of Mary Garland's challenge in the porch, but he thought even
more that, although the fetid interior of a high-nestling chalet may
offer a convenient refuge from an Alpine tempest, there was no possible
music in the universe so sweet as the sound of Roderick's voice. At
midnight, through his dripping window-pane, he saw a star, and he
immediately went downstairs and out into the gallery.
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