“Sure what a stormy night it is! Lard help us, Mr. Mac Allain,” said the nurse, as she wrapped her thick cloth mantle over the sweet slumberer that fondled in her bosom, and got into a post-chaise and four with much trepidation and difficulty. “I never saw the like! there’s wind enough to blow us into the sea, and sea enough to deluge the land. The Holy Virgin, and all the saints protect us!” Gerald Mac Allain having with some trouble secured the reluctant and loquacious matron, now returned for another and a dearer charge, who, trembling and penitent, followed him to the carriage. “Farewell, my kind preserver,” said Calantha, her voice scarcely audible. “God bless, God protect you, dear lady,” said the old man in bitter grief. “Take care of Henry. Tell my father that I have been led to this step by utter despair. Let no one suspect your friendly aid. Lord Avondale, though he may refuse to see me, will not be offended with the kind hearts that had pity on my misfortunes.” “God bless you, dear lady,” again reiterated the old man, as the carriage drove swiftly from the gates. But the blessing of God was not with Lady Avondale; she had renounced his favour and protection in the hour of prosperity; and she durst not even implore his mercy or his pardon in her present affliction. Thoughts of bitterness crowded together: she could no longer weep—the pressure upon her heart and brain would not permit it. “Eh! dear heart, how the carriage rowls!” was the first exclamation which awoke her to a remembrance of her situation. “We are ascending the mountain. Fear not, good nurse. Your kindness in accompanying me shall never be forgotten.” “Och musha, what a piteous night it is!—I did not reckon upon it.” “You shall be rewarded and doubly rewarded for your goodness. I shall never forget it. Lord Avondale will reward you,” “Hey sure you make me weep to hear you; but I wish you’d tell the cattle not to drive so uncommon brisk up the precipice. Lord have mercy, if there ain’t shrouds flying over the mountains!” “It is only the flakes of snow driven by the tempest.” “Do not fret yourself thus,” continued Lady Avondale. “I will take care of you, good nurse.” “I have heard say, and sure I hope it’s no sin to mention it again, my lady, that the wind’s nothing more than the souls of bad christians, who can’t get into Heaven, driven onward, alacks the pity! and shrieking as they pass.” “I have heard the same,” replied Calantha mournfully. “Och lard! my lady, I hope not: I’m sure it’s a horrid thought. I hope, my lady, you don’t believe it. But how terrible your dear ladyship looks, by the light of the moon. I trust in all the saints, the robbers have not heard of our journey.—Hark what a shriek!” “It is nothing but the wind rushing over the vast body of the sea. You must not give way to terror. See how the child sleeps: they say one may go in safety the world over, with such a cherub: Heaven protects it. Sing it to rest, nurse, or tell it some merry tale.”