Journal Entry 69 - July 24th, 1895 – 9:43 p.m.
The storm is terrible, and its fury has yet to ease up. Wrongly, I believed old Wismer’s gallop was faster than the sailing thunderclouds. They soared over us, and the weighty raindrops became torrential. We’ve taken shelter at the vacant mansion, and I’ve hitched Wismer to one of the columns on the porch. I pray he is not too afraid. Poor Wismer! In the antechamber, a bust greeted me—though its thoughtful countenance could be seen only within the flares of lightning as I entered through the double doors. Fortunately, there are many candles whose wicks have yet to be set ablaze. I’ve lit one and am sitting in a dusty chair. Though the squall is worsening, I’m grateful that I found shelter within this house.
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