Very early in the morning a cloud burst flooded the valley. Little rivers ran on thoroughfares, and town gutters widened into dashing streams. Isabel awakened with a start, to hear the water in the Arroyo Seco roaring like some mad thing released. Rampant, swollen, an oncoming charge from the mountains struck a stony vent, transforming a dry, volcanic bed into a running torrent. At intervals lightning flashed lurid sheets, with distant rumbling thunder. The storm had broken into alarming fury.
"Are you awake?" asked Isabel, knowing too well that Philip was not sleeping.
"Yes," he confessed. "Shall I get up and look after the windows?"
She knew that he was trying to appear thoughtful. She assured him that every part of the house had been made secure before retiring. The two lay still, listening to the tempest.
"Isn't it frightful?" Isabel said timidly.
The wail of the storm seemed a dirge to pent thoughts. Philip offered no tenderness to allay her fear, and she was afraid. Suddenly there came a rush of wind and a blasting zigzag charge, with terrible instantaneous crashing thunder. The clap reverberated unchained through the mountains. In a second of powerful light Isabel forgot personal terror, forgot everything but Philip's face. For at last she knew the truth; saw the unchecked anguish of his tortured soul. It was all worse than she had thought. He was ill--very ill. Her arms went out about his neck. Her stored up tears fell free against his cheek. Isabel's self-control was lost. She could no longer, hide her fear. She had waited patiently, she would speak!
"Tell me! oh tell me!" she implored. "I cannot bear it--I shall die if you do not tell me." The secret she had caught gave her fierce strength. "You wish to leave me, you are sorry! You want to go away because you think it is a sin to love me? You are miserable because you gave up--left your Church?" Everything was bursting from her like the tempest. "I could let you go," she sobbed, "but I cannot believe that we have done wrong. It is too cruel. I cannot give you up. Your God never meant you to suffer alone. If you go back they will make you suffer--never let you forget. And--and you could not forget that I am your wife--that you love me?"