It was now past midnight; sleep was out of the question, as I lay ruminating on the mysterious events of the few past hours.  The extraordinary manner in which the murdered wretch had been committed to my care seemed an imperative call upon me to attempt the discovery of some foul and horrible crime.  With the returning day I resolved to begin my inquiries, and I vowed to compass sea and land ere I gave up the pursuit.  So absorbed was I in the project, that I scarcely noticed the storm, now bursting forth in a continuous roll from the sea, until one wild gust, that seemed to rush by as if it would have swept the dwelling from its seat, put an end to these anticipations.  I watched the rattling casement, expecting every moment that it would give way, and the groaning thatch be rent from its hold.  Involuntarily I arose and approached the window.  It was pitchy dark, and the roar of the sea, under the terrific sweep of the tempest, was truly awful.  Never had I heard so terrible a conflict.  I knew not how soon I might be compelled to quit this unstable shelter; the very earth shook; and every moment I expected the frail tenement would be levelled to its foundations.  The eddying and unequal pressure of the wind heaped a huge sand-drift against the walls, which probably screened them from the full force of the blast, acting at the same time as a support to their feeble consistency; sand and earthy matter were driven about and tossed against the casement, insomuch that I almost anticipated a living inhumation.  The next gust, however, generally swept off the greater portion of the deposit, making way for a fresh torrent, that poured upon the quaking roof like the rush of a heavy sea over a ship’s bulwarks.

I was not destined to be left companionless in the midst of my alarms.  The old woman and her daughter, too much terrified to remain quiet, came down from their resting-place, which, being close within the thatch, was most exposed to the tempest.  A light was struck, and the dying embers once more kindled into a blaze.  The old woman, whom I could not but observe with emotions of awe and curiosity, sat cowering over the flame, her withered hands half-covering her furrowed and haggard cheeks; a starting gleam occasionally lighted up her grey and wasted locks, which, matted in wild elf-knots, hung about her temples.  Occasionally she would turn her head as the wind came hurrying on, and the loud rush of the blast went past the dwelling.  She seemed to gaze upon it as though ’twere peopled, and she beheld the “sightless coursers of the air” careering on the storm; then, with a mutter and a groan, she again covered her face, rocking to and fro to the chant of some wild and unintelligible ditty.  Her daughter sat nearly motionless, hearkening eagerly during the short intervals between the gusts; and as the wind came bellowing on, she huddled closer into the chimney-corner, whither she had crept for protection.

“Such nights are not often known in these parts,” said I, taking advantage, as I spoke, of a pause in the warfare without.  The old woman made no answer; but the daughter, bending forwards, replied slowly and with great solemnity:—­“Mother has seen the death-lights dancing upo’ the black scud:  some ha’ seen the sun sink down upon the waters that winna see him rise again fro’ the hill-top.”