As the closing door of the bar-room shut off the stream of ruddy light,
which had hospitably marshalled the travellers to their saddles, John Gillies
looked about him in dismay. No such scene as this had ever entered his
experience.

The twinkling lights of the hamlet already lay behind him, in front, the dark
expanse of an angry sea, its breakers thundering on the beach, and rolling up
in great white crescents to his horses' feet, or in their retreat dragging down to
the depths the rattling pebbles the next wave was to return. To the right lay

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a long range of sand dunes glimmering ghostly white through the darkness,
while the wind chasing the storm through their mimic gorges and shifting tunnels,
and up and down their treacherous slopes, shrieked and yeiled in its awful
glee. Across the scene a broad white track bordering the black waters showed
the crescent curve of the beach, a sort of terrene milky way.

The snow now turning to sleet, beat furiously into the faces of the travellers
with a feel like powdered ice. No such scene had John Gillies encountered in
all his intermural rambles, and he was inwardly strengthening himself against
an impertinent doubt of the wisdom of his own course, when his companion
shouted in his ear,

“A wild night, even for the coast.”

“Very likely,” said Mr. Gillies, curtly.

“I am taking you by the beach. It's a little more open to the storm, but
my man says the other road is drifted very badly,” continued the master of Bonniemeer.

“I leave it entirely to you, sir,” replied his guest, and neither the weather nor
his company encouraging further conversation, Mr. Vaughn relapsed into silence,
broken only by an occasional phrase of encouragement to his horse, while for
nearly an hour the three men struggled on, often reduced to a foot pace by the
violence of the storm, now directly opposed to them, and blowing at times with
such fury that the horses, restrained from their natural impulse to turn from it,
reared impatiently, as if to overleap a tangible obstacle.

The night, now fairly set in, was as dark as is ever known in the immediate
vicinity of a large body of water, and it was only by keeping close behind his
leader that the stranger was able to follow the road as it finally left the coast and
struck in among the sand dunes.

Suddenly, Mr. Vaughn's horse swerved, paused, and uttered a shrill neigh.

“What now, Thor!” exclaimed the rider, as he bent from the saddle to search
for the object of the creature's alarm or surprise.

Something like a garment partially buried in a snow-wreath, rose and fell
stiffly as a blast of wind swept through the dunes.

“Good heavens! some one is lying here, frozen perhaps. What is to be
done?” exclaimed Mr. Vaughn, throwing himself from his horse.

Mr. Gillies unclosed his lips to suggest a watchman, but recollecting himself,
was silent. James and Whitefoot were far in the rear.

“It's a woman, I should think, and she has something—yes, it's a child—
wrapped in her cloak. Do you hear me, sir; here's a poor creature and her
baby freezing to death at your horse's feet!” exclaimed Vaughn, impetuously,
as his comrade quietly began to dismount.

“I understand, but I don't know what to advise. There is no station-house
near by, I suppose, where we might apply for help.”

“Station-house! good heavens, no! My own house is the nearest; but how
are we to get her there?”

“I cannot suggest,” said Mr. Gillies, calmly, and in the darkness lost the
look of disgust bestowed upon him by his companion.

“She's gone, poor creature, I'm afraid,” and the younger man softly raised
one of the stiff hands, and then replaced it beneath the cloak.

“James! He's out of sight and hearing,” continued he, impatiently. “Well,
Mr. Gillies, if you will mount again I'll give you the child to carry, and contrive
to get the woman upon my own horse. They can't be left here.”

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“I cannot carry the child. I never touched one,” said Mr. Gillies, in solemn
alarm.

“O, very well. I shall wait for my man to take it, then. I do not know
that he is more experienced than yourself, but I presume he will not refuse to
make the attempt, when life and death are at stake.”

“A plan suggests itself to me,” said John Gillies, slowly.

“Indeed; what is it?” asked his companion, with scarcely-concealed disdain.

“I will stay here with the woman until your servant comes up, when I will
direct him to place her in front of him. You, meantime, will hasten home with
the child, as every moment of continued exposure is a chance of life lost to it.”

“You will stay here? Possibly, James may not come up at all. I shouldn't
wonder if that old nag had foundered, and he walked back to town,” said Mr.
Vaughn, doubtfully.

“In that case, I shall, after satisfying myself that no life remains in this
body, leave it, and trust to the horse to carry me to his home. I have read that
their instinct in such cases is a sure guide.”

“But why not let me now put the body in front of you, and come at once?”
asked Mr. Vaughn, in a more amicable tone.

“I do not wish to touch it,” replied the impracticable Gillies.

“Then I will accept your own proposition. I dare say the horse will come
straight home, and, as you say, the life of this child depends on immediate
relief.”

Mr. Gillies, as his sole reply, seated himself in the snow at a short distance
from the body.

“Good heavens, man! you'll be asleep in five minutes, and freeze to death
in fifteen. I did not actually think of leaving you, of course; but you are so
very self-possessed I could not help a little trial to see if you were in earnest.”

“I am always in earnest,” said John Gillies, solemnly; and Vaughn, with an
imperceptible shrug, replied:

“How delightful! But here is James; now we are all right at last. Here,
James, come and put this poor creature's body in front of me, and then take the
child yourself. Who is that behind you?”

“Thomas, sir. He was sent down to Carrick just after I started, and got to
the tavern a few minutes after we left. So he came along the beach.”

“Was sent!” exclaimed Vaughn, in a changed voice. “Is anything wrong
at home?”

“Mrs. Vaughn is sick, sir,” said the groom, hesitating; “and Thomas says
Mrs. Rhee seemed a good deal frightened when she sent him.”

“Thomas! what message did Mrs. Rhee send to me?” asked the master,
impatiently.

“She said, sir, ride for life if you wanted to see your wife again,” said
Thomas, huskily.

A deep groan burst from Vaughn's lips, and, throwing himself upon his
horse, he struck spurs into his sides with an energy that made the fiery creature
plunge and rear, and then dart forward as if borne by the wind itself.

Even in that moment of agony, however, the humane and hospitable instincts
of the man asserted themselves.

“James,” cried he, “I depend upon you to bring the woman, the child, and
this gentleman safely to Bonniemeer.”

The next instant he was gone.

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