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.