’To be sure; the sea never sleeps. In time you will come to love the sound. It will be a lullaby, soothing my darling to sleep.’ Mirelle shuddered. Lights were visible, twinkling below. ’There is a little town, Boscastle, lying in that glen,’ said he; ’we shall pass above it on our way home.’ Home! The word conveyed no warmth to the heart of Mirelle. Home is a quiet nook in the sun, among roses and mignonette, with a kitten purring at your feet, and a blackbird singing out of a syringa hard by, and the white cap of Josephine seen through the kitchen window, and her pleasant voice singing a _cantique_ of the Mois de Marie whilst she shells peas. Home! A cold house in a void world, without a bush or tree, without stillness, in the midst of blackness and storm, and with salt spray and the boom of breaking billows filling the air with bitterness and thunder. A scream over the carriage. Mirelle cried out in an agony of fear at that Banshee note. ’Do not be frightened,’ said Herring. ’That was a gull driven in by the storm. Poor Mirelle! you will be glad when we reach home. This has been a trying day for you.’ She could not answer. She did not think she would be glad to reach Welltown; she was indifferent whether she got there or not. It was all one to her whether she alighted in a cold home or went on for ever and ever thus in storm and snow. Would it not be best of all to be allowed to descend and lie down on the white bank, and wrap the white fleeces round her, and so go to sleep? Then, indeed, she would go home—to a home she knew, to a home peopled with dear friends, saints and angels, with whom she had spoken from early childhood. The longest day has its ending. The carriage drew up at last at the porch door of Welltown. Herring sprang out; no lights were in the windows. He looked along the front of the house; all was dark. No cheering welcome of twinkling candles, of ruddy fireflash through the panes. He knocked loudly. Then Genefer came to the door with a stable lanthorn. ’What! Master John! Well, to be sure. I never thought it. The day were so wisht and wild.’ ’Jenny,’ said Herring, impatiently, ’open at once. Let me in; you knew that we were to arrive this evening.’ ’The storm raged so bad, I thought sure you’d put it off.’ ’Come in, dear Mirelle,’ said Herring, greatly incensed, and led his bride into the porch out of the wind. ’Have you no fires lighted? Nothing ready?’ he asked, angrily, of Genefer. ’No, Master John. It be bad luck to wed in snow and storm: snow cools love and wind blows it away. I reckoned you knew that well enough, and would have put it off till the sun shone.’ A cold reception. The hall dark; only a little turf smouldering on the hearth, giving out neither light nor heat. Mirelle came in. She did not look round; she was stupefied. It was all one to her. She had not expected much, and was not disappointed.