"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."