Harry's eagle glance was turned on the man like lightning. "What is that, Gleeson?" he asked, in a quiet but imperious tone.
And Mr. Tim Gleeson, owing no doubt to the wetting of the whistle, was so imprudent as to repeat it.
The next moment he seemed to have pins and needles in his eyes, and found himself flat on the ground. Struck to it by the stern hand of Mr. Harry Castlemaine.
[CHAPTER XXXIII.]
A TURBULENT SEA.
Boisterous weather. Ethel Reene, her scarlet cloak on, and her hat tied securely over her ears, was making her way to the top of the cliff opposite the coastguard station. A somewhat adventurous expedition in such a wind; but Ethel was well used to the path. She sat down when she reached the top: dropped down, laughing heartily. For the blast seized rudely on her petticoats, and sent the silken cords and tassels of her cloak flying in the air.
A glorious sea. A sea to look at to-day: to excite awe; to impress the mind with the marvellous works of the Great Creator. "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther. And here shall thy proud waves be stayed."
The waves were leaping mountains high; the foam and spray dashed aloft; the sound of the roar was like prolonged thunder. Ethel sat with clasped hands and sobered face and heart, lost in contemplation of the Majesty seen and unseen. It was not the time for silent thought to-day, or for telling her secrets to the sea: wonder, praise, awe, they could alone fill the mind.
"What a grand scene!"
The words were spoken close to her ear, and she turned her head quickly, holding her hat. The fastenings of her hair had blown away, and it fell around her in a wave of curls. Mr. North was the speaker. He had made his way up the rocks to watch this wondrous sea from that elevated place, not suspecting any one was there.