the
Dalesman's Daughter. It had been long dark when they emerged from the
cosy parlor of the inn and plunged out into the night.

As they crossed the Silver Lea and trudged over that familiar ground,
where a fortnight since had been fought out the battle of the Cup, the
wind fluttered past them in spasmodic gasps.

"There 's trouble in the wind," said the Master.

"Ay," answered his laconic son.

All day there had been no breath of air, and the sky dangerously blue.
But now a world of black was surging up from the horizon, smothering the
star-lit night; and small dark clouds, like puffs of smoke, detaching
themselves from the main body, were driving tempestuously forward--the
vanguard of the storm.

In the distance was a low rumbling like heavy tumbrils on the floor of
heaven. All about, the wind sounded hollow like a mighty scythe on corn.
The air was oppressed with a leaden blackness--no glimmer of light on
any hand; and as they began the ascent of the Pass they reached out
blind hands to feel along the rock-face.

A sea-fret, cool and wetting, fell. A few big rain-drops splashed
heavily down. The wind rose with a leap and roared past them up the
rocky track. And the water-gates of heaven were flung wide.

Wet and weary, they battled on; thinking sometimes of the cosy parlor
behind; sometimes of the home in front; wondering whether Maggie, in
flat contradiction of her father's orders, would be up to welcome them;
or whether only Owd Bob would come out to meet them.

The wind volleyed past them like salvoes of artillery. The rain stormed
at them from above; spat at them from the rock-face; and leapt up at
them from their feet.

Once they halted for a moment, finding a miserable shelter in a crevice
of the rock.

"It's a Black Killer's night," panted the Master. "I reck'n he's oot."

"Ay," the boy gasped, "reck'n he is." Up and up they climbed through the
blackness, blind and buffeted. The eternal thunder of the rain was all
about them; the clamor of the gale above; and far beneath, the roar of
angry waters.

Once, in a lull in the storm, the Master turned and looked back into the
blackness along the path they had come.

"Did ye hear onythin'?" he roared above the muffled soughing of the
wind.

"Nay!" Andrew shouted back.

"I thowt I heard a step!" the Master cried, peering down. But nothing
could he see.

Then the wind leaped to life again like a giant from his sleep, drowning
all sound with its h