lse, he might get his death in such a night as
this."

The wind dashed wildly against the window-panes as he spoke, and the old
timbers of the frame rattled fearfully.

"Do you remain here, Upton. I'll go in search of the boy. Take care
Glencore hears nothing of his absence." And with a promptitude that
bespoke the man of action, Harcourt descended the stairs and set out.

The night was pitch dark; sweeping gusts of wind bore the rain along in
torrents, and the thunder rolled incessantly, its clamor increased by
the loud beating of the waves as they broke upon the rocks. Upton had
repeated to Harcourt that Billy saw the boy going towards the sea-shore,
and in this direction he now followed. His frequent excursions had
familiarized him with the place, so that even at night Harcourt found
no difficulty in detecting the path and keeping it. About half an hour's
brisk walking brought him to the side of the lough, and the narrow
flight of steps cut in the rock, which descended to the little
boat-quay. Here he halted, and called out the boy's name several times.
The sea, however, was running mountains high, and an immense drift,
sweeping over the rocks, fell in sheets of scattered foam beyond them;
so that Harcourt's voice was drowned by the uproar. A small shealing
under the shelter of the rock formed the home of a boatman; and at the
crazy door of this humble cot Harcourt now knocked violently.

The man answered the summons at once, assuring him that he had not heard
or seen any one since the night closed in; adding, at the same time,
that in such a tempest a boat's crew might have landed without his
knowing it.

"To be sure," continued he, after a pause, "I heard a chain rattlin' on
the rock soon after I went to bed, and I 'll Just step down and see if
the yawl is all right."

Scarcely had he left the spot, when his voice was heard calling out from
below,--

"She's gonel the yawl is gone! the lock is broke with a stone, and she's
away!"

"How could this be? No boat could live in such a sea," cried Harcourt,
eagerly.

"She could go out fast enough, sir. The wind is northeast, due; but how
long she'll keep the say is another matter."

"Then he 'll be lost!" cried Harcourt, wildly.

"Who, sir,--who is it?" asked the man.

"Your master's son!" cried he, wringing his hands in anguish.

"Oh, murther! murther!" screamed the boatman; "we 'll never see him
again. 'T is out to say, into the wild ocean, he'll be blow