Still it was a night of terror, and it was not until the wind had sensibly abated, and a few heavy drops of rain fell splashing upon the ground, that the peasants ventured to re-enter their dwellings, with a hope that the storm had done its worst.
The child which had been brought from the burning house, in so awful and mysterious a manner appeared to be little more than one year old, and it was perfectly unknown to all in the village; neither could any one give a guess as to who the strange man could be, who with such frantic cries of pain and remorse, had appeared for a moment amongst them.
The wing of the ancient building in which the fire had originated, alone had suffered from the conflagration. It lay a heap of smouldering ruins, but the rest of the large rambling habitation, including the Smithy, was quite uninjured.
The child was surrendered by common consent to the care of a kind-hearted woman, by the name of Dame Tatton, who was a widow. She looked with an eye of trembling pity upon the little innocent who nestled in her bosom in sobbing fear.
The little girl, for such she was, showed evidently by her attire that she had been in the care of those of a far higher rank in life than the kind-hearted, but humble cottager, who now strove to allay her childish terror.
Around the neck of the infant was a small necklace of pearls, and about its attire generally there were ample indications of wealth.
The little innocent soon sobbed itself to sleep upon the breast of Dame Tatton, and the village gossips, after resolving in the morning to go in a body to the Squire Learmont and ask his advice, or rather commands, concerning the disposal of the babe that had been so mysteriously thrown upon their hands, dispersed to seek that repose they were so much in need of.
Every one naturally thought that Andrew Britton, the smith, knew something of the mysterious man and the child; but none would venture to the dwelling of “The Savage,” as he was generally called, to make an inquiry, for his ferocity was too well known not to be universally dreaded.
The storm had nearly gone. A heavy fall of rain was splashing on the meadows, and beaten down vegetation, and all was still in Learmont till the morning’s sun rose on the wreck which the tempest had made in the green valley that the day before was redolent of peace and plenty.
Young and old then sought the cottage of Dame Tatton. They knocked at first gently, then more loudly, but no one answered.