The Valkyries by E.F. Benson

On a certain day then in this May month, when winter still held sway, Hunding, as his custom was, had left the house armed with his spear and sword and shield, as soon as the eyelids of the wind-swept morning opened in the skies, and all day Sieglinde had been alone. All day too a riotous storm had beset the place, so that she had stirred not from the house, but when her work was done sat and listened to the bugling blasts, half in fear, half in hope that this tempest and hurly-burly of the skies might prove too strong for the cunning handiwork of Hunding, and that the very house should fall upon her as she sat there, making an end of her hopes and her hate. So strong was the tempest that she feared Hunding might return before the day was over, but the hours passed on, and still he came not; and towards the sunset she went into the store-house, as her custom was, to make ready for his supper.

Shrill and loud blew the wind, so that the walls of the house trembled with its violence, and the sheets of rain were flung unceasingly against the building. For all that, it seemed to her that by now some change had come over the day; no longer were the blasts cold and piercing like those she had known now for months past, but there was something of warmth and softness in them. And for all the rain was so heavy, yet to her mind it was more like to the heavy and fruitful rain of spring than the volleyings of winter tempests. All this made within her a sort of eager restlessness; often during the day she had started on some errand in her work, and had left it with a sigh unfinished or had forgotten what she had intended; often too she had looked at the sword-hilt gleaming against the dark ash-stem, and thrills of unaccountable expectation had been hers suddenly and unconjecturably sweet.