Chapter XIV: A Stormy Night

"HARK! What's that, Miss Conway? It sounds like a dog howling. There it is again!" And the speaker, Margaret Fowler, put down the book she had been reading, and rising from her chair by the fireplace, went to the window, and peered into the darkness.

The governess and her two pupils were spending the hours between tea-time and supper in the schoolroom at Greystone. A very pleasant apartment it was, comfortably carpeted and curtained, with a bright wood fire burning in the grate. Miss Conway glanced up from her needlework as Margaret spoke, whilst Gerald ceased playing with the cat on the hearthrug and listened for a few moments.

"I don't hear anything," the latter said.

He turned his attention to his playfellow again, but puss was tired and had no desire to prolong the game. In vain, he dangled a piece of string before her eyes to entice her to spring at it. She had had enough of him, and sat on the hearthrug, complacently washing her face and blinking in the firelight.

"Selfish thing!" he exclaimed, "I—oh, yes, I do hear something now!" And he joined his sister at the window.

The sound which fell upon the ears of the listeners was like the low wail of some animal in distress. Margaret's fair cheeks paled as she listened, for there was something eerie in the faint, indistinct sound.

"I don't think it's a dog," said Miss Conway doubtfully. "No, I believe it's the wind rising. If so, we shall have a wild night. Let us open the window and make certain what it is."

They did so; and then ascertained that it was indeed the wind which they heard. The night was pitch dark, with heavy clouds overhead. It had been a still, sombre, autumn day, with that hush in the air which generally portends a storm. Now, the wind was rising, whilst the breakers could be heard dashing against the base of the cliffs.

"Yes, it is only the wind," Miss Conway decided. "How mournful it sounds. Shut the window, children, and come back to the fire. How thankful we should be that we have a good roof over our heads! Gerald, don't tease the cat, my dear; she doesn't want to play any more."

"Josiah Petherick said this afternoon that we were going to have a storm," Gerald remarked. "I saw him on the beach, tarring his boat. None of the fishermen had gone to sea."

"I suppose they considered the weather too uncertain?" Miss Conway interrogated.

"Yes," the boy replied. "Father says they are all very weather-wise. I don't mind a storm, do you, Miss Conway? I wonder if there will be a wreck."

"Oh, I sincerely trust not!" the governess exclaimed hastily.

"I should like to see a wreck," Gerald informed her. "Josiah Petherick has seen several, and he has saved the lives of heaps of people. He must be a very brave man. I don't believe he's afraid of anything. Can't we have our supper upstairs to-night instead of in the dining-room? It's so jolly and cosy here."

Miss Conway assented. Mr. and Mrs. Fowler were in London, and the house seemed dull without them. Margaret had taken up her book again; but she was not reading, for the sound of the rising gale distracted her attention and made her feel restless and uneasy.

"If we have a storm, perhaps there will be a wreck," Gerald proceeded presently. "It is so dark, that I should not be surprised, should you, Miss Conway, if a ship ran on the rocks?"

"Oh, Gerald, pray don't suggest such a probability!" she cried, with a shudder.

"If there was a wreck, would you let me go down to the beach?" he inquired eagerly. "Say you would, Miss Conway!"

"I shall certainly say no such thing. If there was a wreck—which God forbid!—I should insist on your remaining in the house. Nothing would induce me to give you permission to go out in a storm. But we need not speak of it. Ring the bell, Gerald, and I will order supper."

The boy obeyed, though with a cloud on his brow; he realised argument was of no avail when his governess spoke in that decided tone. After supper, he went to bed at his usual time, and forgetful of the rising storm, and the prospect of a wreck, was soon asleep. Miss Conway and Margaret sat up till ten o'clock, alternately talking and listening to the wind, which was now howling dolefully around the house, almost driving in the window-panes, and mingling its sobs and wails with the angry roar of the sea; and then they, too, retired to their respective rooms. The gale increased in fury however, and then came the rain.

Meanwhile, the villagers were all alert, for there was little rest for anyone at Yelton on such a night as this, with a westerly gale raging, and the sea like great walls of foam. The fishermen hesitated to seek their beds, whilst some of the most venturesome braved the furious wind and the heavy rain, which was now descending in torrents, and kept watch by the sea-shore, their hearts anxiously expectant, as they recalled similar occasions when their assistance had been required to help those in peril on the sea.

In the Pethericks' cottage, Salome stood by the kitchen window, listening to the storm, and patiently waiting for her father. He was not at the "Crab and Cockle," she was certain of that, but on the beach; and she felt no anxiety about him. He was accustomed to rough weather; and on such a night as this, she knew he would be his true self—brave, fearless, and reliable. As was her custom when alone, she was singing softly:

"Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us
O'er the world's tempestuous sea;
Guide us, guard us, keep us, feed us,
For we have no help but Thee,
Yet possessing every blessing
If our God our Father be."

Seen by the subdued light of the lamp in the centre of the table, the little girl's face wore a look of great contentment. For the time, she had forgotten how troublous was her life, as her soul rose on the wings of faith to an altitude which set her far above the trials of this world. She sang the hymn from beginning to end in a soft undertone, with the wailing wind for an accompanyment; then, opening the window, she thrust out her head and listened. She heard hurrying footsteps passing the cottage, and men's hoarse voices shouting.

"Who goes there?" Salome cried. "Is anything amiss?"

"I hope nothing is wrong," she thought, as she received no answer; "but I suppose they are obliged to shout to make themselves heard."

She tried in vain to pierce the darkness.

"If a vessel had been in distress, the crew would fire guns, or send up rockets," she reflected.

The rain beat against her face, so she drew back from the window, which she shut, and turned her attention to the fire, remembering that her father would certainly return drenched to the skin. Suddenly the cottage door was flung open, and Margaret Fowler, hatless, and with her fair hair hanging around her face, stood before her.

"Oh, Salome!" she gasped breathlessly. "Is he here? Have you seen Gerald?"

"No, miss. What is wrong?"

"We've lost Gerald, and I thought he might have come here. All the servants are looking for him, and Miss Conway too. Oh, what shall we do? He went to bed as usual, and was fast asleep at ten o'clock, but when Miss Conway peeped into his room half-an-hour ago, to see if the storm had disturbed him, his bed was empty. He had dressed, and we believe, he must have gone out."

"Perhaps he is somewhere hiding in the house," Salome suggested. "Surely he would not go out on a night like this."

"Yes, I think he would. He wanted so much to see a wreck—he seemed to have made up his mind there would be one to-night—and he is quite fearless."

"I expect he is safe. Oh, how wet you are, Miss Margaret!"

"Yes, and the wind blew away my hat coming down the hill, but no matter. Oh, where can Gerald have gone? I believe he must be on the beach."

"If he is, father will be sure to notice him and take care of him," Salome said consolingly. "Don't be frightened, miss; I feel sure Master Gerald will come to no harm."

"If he does, it will kill mother!" Margaret cried, despairingly. "She loves him so dearly. No, I mustn't stay; I must go and find Gerald if I can;" and opening the door, she rushed away into the darkness again.

After a few minutes of indecision, Salome put on her jacket, tied a shawl around her head, and leaving the cottage door unlocked, hastened towards the beach. She had not gone far, however, before she came upon a group of fishermen, one of whom was her father. She explained that the little boy from Greystone was missing from his home, but no one had seen him. Her father was vexed that she had ventured out in such a storm, and peremptorily ordered her to return.

"I'll look around an' see if I can find Master Gerald," he said. "But he'll come to no harm, I warrant."

"Oh, I am so glad to hear you say that!"

It was Margaret who spoke. She had been led in the direction of the group by the sound of voices; and clutched Josiah by the arm to steady herself, as a fierce gust of wind nearly took her off her feet.

"Do you go back with Salome, miss," he said. "This is no fit place for you two little maids. I promise I'll look for Master Gerald, and find him, too, if he's hereabouts."

"Oh, thank you!" Margaret replied earnestly.

She was really nearly done up with battling against the wind and the rain, so she raised no objection to returning with Salome. The little girls reached the cottage in safety, and upon entering, found Miss Conway in the kitchen. Having knocked in vain at the door, she had tried to open it, and finding it unlocked, had gone in; she too had thought it possible that Gerald might be there.

"If he's on the beach, father will find him, you may depend upon that," Salome assured her. "And he will bring him straight here. I fear you will both catch dreadful colds," and she glanced commiseratingly from Margaret to the governess.

"We shan't mind that, so long as Gerald is safe," Margaret returned. She was shivering and her teeth were chattering, as much with fright on her brother's account as with cold. "Oh, Miss Conway, what shall we do if anything has happened to him? Mother will never forgive us if—"

"Dear Margaret, don't be morbid; neither you nor I have been to blame," Miss Conway reminded her. "If harm has come to your brother, it has been through no fault of ours. Who would imagine that he would deliberately get up and dress and steal out of the house unknown to anyone? Whatever the result of this mad freak of his proves to be, will have been his own doing."

"It is terrible to think what may have happened to him. The wind is high enough to blow him into the sea if he is really on the beach. Oh, mother will hate the sight of me for ever, if Gerald is drowned!" And Margaret burst into tears.

"Don't, dear, don't!" Miss Conway said imploringly.

"You know it is true," Margaret cried passionately. "If I was killed, mother would not care—not much; but Gerald is as the apple of her eye."

Before any answer could be made to this, the cottage door opened, and Josiah strode into the kitchen, bearing Gerald in his arms. He had discovered the little boy crouched in the shelter of a boat which had been drawn high up on the beach, out of the reach of the tide.

"There is no wreck," Gerald said disgustedly, as Josiah set him down on the floor, "and I'm cold and wet, and should like to go home."