“Is your mother a seer, then, my pretty maiden?”

“Ye’re but a stranger, I guess, if you know not Bridget o’ the Sandy Holm—­Save us! she’s hearkening again for the”——­

“There!—­Once!” The old woman raised her hands as she spoke, and bent her head in an attitude of listening and eager expectation.  I listened too, but could discover no sound, save the heavy swing of the blast, and its receding growl.”

“Again!” As she said this, Bridget rose from the low stool she had occupied, and hobbled towards the window.  I thought a signal-gun was just then audible, as from some vessel in distress.  Ere I could communicate this intelligence, another and a nearer roll silenced all conjecture.  It was indeed but too evident that a vessel was in the offing, and rapidly driving towards the shore, from the increasing distinctness of the signals.

Old Bridget stood by the window; her dim and anxious eyes peering through the casement as if she could discern the fearful and appalling spectacle upon the dark billows.

“Your last!—­your last, poor wretches!” she cried, when a heavy gust brought another report with amazing distinctness to the ear.  “And now the death shriek!—­another and another!—­ye drop into the deep waters, and the gulf is not gorged with its prey.  Bridget Rimmer, girl and woman, has ne’er watched the blue dancers but she has heard the sea-gun follow, and seen the red sand decked with the spoil.  Wench, take not of the prey:  ’tis accursed!”

The beldame drew back after uttering this anathema, and again resumed her station near the hearth.

The storm now seemed to abate, and as if satisfied with the mischief at this moment consummating, the wind grew comparatively calm.  The gusts came by fitfully, like the closing sobs of some fretful and peevish babe, not altogether ceasing with the indulgence of its wishes.  As I stood absorbed in a reverie, the nature of which I cannot now accurately determine, the maiden gently touched my arm.

“Sir, will ye walk to the shore?  I’se warrant the neighbours are helping, and we may save a life though we canna gie it.”

She was wrapped in a thick cloak, the hood thrown forward, and the horn lantern again put in requisition, fitted up for immediate service.  We opened the door with considerable difficulty, and waded slowly through the heavy sand-drifts towards the beech.  The clouds, shattered and driven together in mountainous heaps, were rolling along the sky, a dark scud sweeping over their huge tops, here and there partially illuminated by the moonbeams:  the moon was still obscured, but a wild and faint light, usually seen after the breaking up of a storm, just served to show the outline of objects not too remote from our sphere of vision.