was tolling like a knell under the surging of the waves. Sometimes the
clashing of the rain against the window-panes was like the wash of
billows over the port-holes of a ship at sea.

"Pity for the poor folk with their fireworks," said Father Dan.

"They'll eat their suppers for all that," said my father.

It was now dark, but my father would not allow the lamps to be lighted.
There was therefore no light in his gaunt room except a sullen glow from
the fire of peat and logs. Sometimes, in a momentary lull of the storm,
an intermittent moan would come from the room above, followed by a dull
hum of voices.

"Guess it can't be long now," my father would say.

"Praise the Lord," Father Dan would answer.

By seven the storm was at its height. The roaring of the wind in the
wide chimney was as loud as thunder. Save for this the thunderous noise
of the sea served to drown all sounds on the land. Nevertheless, in the
midst of the clamour a loud rapping was heard at the front door. One of
the maid-servants would have answered it, but my father called her back
and, taking up a lantern, went to the door himself. As quietly as he
could for the rush of wind without, he opened it, and pulling it after
him, he stepped into the porch.

A man in livery was there on horseback, with another saddled horse
beside him. He was drenched through, but steaming with sweat as if he
had ridden long and hard. Shouting above the roar of the storm, he said: