Time jogged on very pleasantly to the party assembled at Ravenshoe that Christmas. There were woodcocks and pheasants in the woods; there were hares, snipes, and rabbits on the moor. In the sea there were fish; and many a long excursion they had in the herring-boats — sometimes standing boldly out to sea towards the distant blue island in the main, sometimes crawling lazily along under the lofty shoreless cliffs which towered above their heads from 200 to 1,100 feet high.

It was three days before Christmas-day, and they were returning from fishing along the coast, and were about ten miles or so from home. I say returning, though in fact there was not a breath of wind, and the boat was drifting idly along on the tide. Two handsome simple-looking young men were lolling by the useless tiller; an old man, hale and strong as a lion, with a courteous highbred look about him, was splicing a rope; and a tall, pale, black-haired man was looking steadily seaward, with his hands in his pockets, while Charles and Marston were standing in the bows smoking.

“What a curious, dreamy, dosy, delicious kind of winter you have down here,” said Marston.

“I am very fond of it,” said Charles; “it keeps you in continual hope for the spring that is coming. In the middle of frost and snow and ice one is apt to lose one’s faith in waving boughs and shady pools.”

“I have had such a quiet time with you down here, Charley. I am so pleased with the way in which you are going on. You are quite an altered man. I think we shall both look back to the last few quiet weeks as a happy time.”

“Here the tall dark man, who was looking out to sea, suddenly said —

“Bain and hail, snow and tempest, stormy wind fulfilling His word.”

“Ay, ay,” said the old man; “going to blow tonight, I expect.”

“We shall go home pretty fast, may be.”

“Not us, Master Charles dear,” said the tall man. “We are going to have it from south and by west, and so through west round to north. Before which time there’ll be souls in glory, praise be to God.”

The old man took off his hat reverently.

“There won’t be amuch surf on when we beaches she,” said one of the young men. “It won’t get up afore the wind be full round west for an hour.”

“You’re a spaking like a printed buke, Jan,” said the old man.

“I’m a thinking differently, Master Evans,” said the dark man. “It will chop round very sudden, and be west before we know where we are. I speak with humility to a man who has seen the Lord’s wonders in the deep so many years longer nor me. But I think, under God, I am right.”

“You most in general be right. They as converses with the Lord night and day, day and night, like as you do, knows likely more of his works nor we, as ain’t your gifts.”

“The Lord has vouchsafed me nothing in the way of a vision, about this afternoon, Master Evans.”

“Didn’t ’ee dream never at all last night?” said one of the young men, “Think ’ee now.”

“Nought to bear on wind or weather, Jan. I judges from the glass. It’s a dropping fast.”

Jan would have had more faith in one of Matthew’s dreams, and didn’t seem to think much of the barometer. Meanwhile Marston had whispered Charles —

“Who is Matthews? What sect is he?”

“Oh, he’s a Brianite.”

“What is that?”

“A sort of Ranter, I believe.”

Marston looked up, and saw the two great black eyes under the lofty forehead fixed full upon him. With the instinct of a gentleman, he said at once —

“I was asking Mr. Charles what sect you were of; that was all. He tells me you are a Brianite, and I had never heard of that sect before. I hope you will let me talk to you about your matters of belief some day.”

Matthews took off his hat, and said — That with the Lord’s will he would speak to his honour. “Will your onour bear with a poor fisherman, ignorant of the world’s learning, but who has had matters revealed to him by the Lord in dreams and visions of the night. Peter was only a fisherman, your honour, and, oh, if we could only hear him speak now!”

He paused, and looked again to seaward. Charles had gone again into the bow, and Marston was standing among the men right aft. Suddenly Matthews turned again upon him, and said —

“In the beaching of this here boat tonight, your honour, there may be danger. In such case my place will be alongside of him,” pointing to Charles. “There’d be a many kind hearts aching, if aught happened to him. You stick close to these young men. They’ll see after you, sir.”

“You keep close alongside of we, sir. You hold on of we, sir. We’ll see you all right, sir,” said the two young men.

“But, my dear good souls, I am as good a swimmer as any in England, and as active as a cat. Pray, don’t mind me.” You keep hold of we and run, sir,” said one of the young men, “that’s all you’re a’got to do, sir.”

“I shall most certainly run,” said Marston laughing, “but I decline drowning any one but myself — ”

Charles said at this moment, “Do come here, and look at this.”

It was worth looking at, indeed. They were about a mile from shore, floating about anyhow on an oily mooth sea; for the tide had changed, and they were making no headway. Before them one of the noblest headlands on the coast, an abrupt cone of slate, nigh a thousand feet high, covered almost entirely with grass, sloped suddenly into the water; and in advance of it, but slightly on one side, a rugged mound of black rock, nearly six hundred feet, stood out into the sea, and contrasted its horrid jagged lines with the smooth green of the peak behind. Round its base, dividing it from the glossy sea, ran a delicate line of silver — the surf caused by the ground swell; and in front the whole promontory was dimly mirrored in the quietly heaving ocean.

“What a noble headland,” said Marston; “is that grass on the further peak too steep to walk upon?”

“There’s some one a’walking on it now,” said old Evans. “There’s a woman a’walking on it.”

None could see it but he, except Matthews, who said he couldn’t tell if it was a sheep or no.

Charles got out his glass, and the old man was right. A woman was walking rapidly along the peak, about the third of the way down.

“What a curious place for a woman to be in!” he remarked. “It is almost terrible to look at.”

“I never saw any one there before, save the shepherd,” said the old man.

“It’s a sheep-path,” said one of the young ones. “I have been along there myself. It is the short way round to Coombe.”

Charles would have thought more of the solitary emale figure on that awful precipice, but that their attention was diverted by something else. From the south-westward black flaws of wind began to creep towards them, alternated with long irregular bands of oily calm. Soon the calm bands disappeared, and the wind reached them. Then they had steerage, and in a very short time were roaring out to sea close hauled, with a brisk and ever increasing breeze.

They saw that they would have to fetch a very long .ml make a great offing, in order to reach Ravenshoe at all. The wind was freshening every moment, changing to the west, and the sea was getting up. It took them three hours to open Ravenshoe bay; and, being about five miles from the shore, they could see that already there was an ugly side-sirrf sweeping in, and that the people were busy on the beach, hauling up their boats out of harm’s way.

“How beautifully these craft sail,” said Marston, as they were all hanging on by her weather gunwale, and the green sea was rushing past to leeward, almost under their feet, in sheets of angry foam.

“It is amazing what speed is got out of them on a wind,” said Charles, “but they are dangerous craft:’

“Why so?”

“These lug-sails are so awkward in tacking, you wi............