IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT A Novel. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON. 1874. (_All rights reserved_.) CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. CHAPTER I. OVER THE CLIFF CHAPTER II. THE HERMIT OF GATEHOUSE FARM CHAPTER III. THE FOUNDATION OF A FRIENDSHIP CHAPTER IV. GOLDEN TIDINGS CHAPTER V. EDITH WEST CHAPTER VI. FIRST DAYS AT PARK NEWTON CHAPTER VII. KESTER ST. GEORGE CHAPTER VIII. A MIDNIGHT INTRUDER CHAPTER IX. MR. PERCY OSMOND CHAPTER X. MASTER AND MAN CHAPTER XI. IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT CHAPTER XII. TOM BRISTOW’S RETURN CHAPTER XIII. A DINNER AT PINCOTE CHAPTER XIV. AT ALDER COTTAGE IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT. CHAPTER I. OVER THE CLIFF. A hot, windless August day had settled down into a dull, brooding evening, presageful of a coming storm. It was nearly dark by the time Lionel Dering was ready to turn his face homeward. The tide was coming in with an ominous muffled roar; the wind, unfelt all day, was now blowing in fitful puffs from various points of the compass, so that the weathercock on the green, in front of the Silver Lion, was more undecided than usual, and did not know its own mind for two minutes at a time. The boatmen were busy with their tiny craft, making everything fast for the night; and the bathing men were dragging their machines high and dry beyond reach of the incoming tide. Many of the excursionists—those with families chiefly—were already making their way towards the railway station; but others there were who seemed bent on keeping up their merriment to the last moment. These latter could be seen through the wide-open windows of the Silver Lion, footing it merrily on the club-room floor, to the music of two wheezy fiddles. A few minutes later there comes a warning whistle from the engine. The music stops suddenly; the country-dance is left unfinished; pipes are laid aside; glasses are quickly emptied; and the lads and lasses, with many a shout and burst of laughter, rush helter-skelter across the green, to find their places in the train. “We shall have a rough night, Ben,” said Mr. Dering to a man who was coming up from the beach. “Yes, sir, there’s a storm brewin’ fast,” answered Ben, carrying a finger to his forehead. “If I was you, Mr. Dering,” he added, “I wouldn’t go over the cliffs to-night. It ain’t safe after dark, and the storm’ll break afore you get home.” But Mr. Dering merely shook his head, laughed, bade Ben good-night, and kept on his way. The old boatman’s words proved true. The first flash of lightning came just as the last houses of Melcham were lost to view behind a curve of the road, and when Lionel had two miles of solitary walking still before him. The thunder and the rain, however, were still far out at sea.