The post master looked at them in surprise, as they entered his office flushed and disordered.

“Why, gentlemen, you are not thinking of going on such a day as this?  It would be a sheer impossibility.  Why, the carriage would be blown over, and if it wasn’t, no horses would face this wind.”

“We would be willing to pay anything you may like to ask,” Charlie said.

“It ain’t a question of money, sir.  If you were to buy the four horses and the carriage, you would be no nearer, for no post boy would be mad enough to ride them; and, even supposing you got one stage, which you never would do, you would have to buy horses again, for no one would be fool enough to send his animals out.  You could not do it, sir.  Why, I hear there are half a dozen houses, within a dozen yards of this, that have been altogether unroofed, and it is getting worse instead of better.  If it goes on like this, I doubt if there will be a steeple standing in London tomorrow.

“Listen to that!”

There was a tremendous crash, and, running out into the street, they saw a mass of beams and tiles lying in the roadway—­a house two doors away had been completely unroofed.  They felt that, in such a storm, it was really impossible to proceed, and accordingly returned to their lodgings, performing the distance in a fraction of the time it had before taken them.

For some hours the gale continued to increase in fury.  Not a soul was to be seen in the streets.  Occasional heavy crashes told of the damage that was being wrought, and, at times, the house shook so that it seemed as if it would fall.

Never was such a storm known in England.  The damage done was enormous.  The shores were strewn with wrecks.  Twelve ships of the royal navy, with fifteen hundred men, were lost; and an enormous number of merchant vessels.  Many steeples, houses, and buildings of all kinds were overthrown, and the damage, in London alone, was estimated at a million pounds.

There were few who went to bed that night.  Many thought that the whole city would be destroyed.  Towards morning, however, the fury of the gale somewhat abated, and by nightfall the danger had passed.

The next morning the two friends started, and posted down to Lancashire.  The journey was a long one.  In many places the road was completely blocked by fallen trees, and sometimes by the ruins of houses and barns.  In the former case, long detours had often to be made through villainous roads, where the wheels sank almost to their axles, and, in spite of the most liberal bribes to post boys and post masters, the journey occupied four days longer than the usual time.

At last, they reached the lodge gate of Lynnwood.  A man came out from the cottage.  He was the same who had been there in Sir Marmaduke’s time.

Charlie jumped out of the post chaise.

“Why, Norman, don’t you know me?”

The man looked hard at him.