“The wind sighs mournfully,” answered her companion, vacantly, as if pursuing some secret train of thought, “mournfully as a lost child, alone on a moor, calling for its mother.” Again the dame looked at her. But there were often thoughts and feelings in the imaginative niece, which the good prosaic lady could not comprehend; and so she wisely made no reply, but called the captain, who stood not far off. “Will we continue to have clear weather, captain?” she said. “It would be a pity, after so fine a voyage, to meet a storm at the end.” “A night like this is no sign of the morrow, ma’am,” was the reply. “I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if it was to blow great guns before morning. The wind has a treacherous feel about it.” “Dear me, you frighten us,” exclaimed the good lady, with a slight scream, and visibly turning paler. “Your niece does not look scared, at any rate, Mrs. Warren,” said the captain, laughingly, as the young girl raised herself, proud and self-collected, at her aunt’s remark. “I confess that I almost regret we have had no storm,” he added, “for I would like to see Miss Aylesford’s courage put to the test. She looks as if nothing would make her afraid.” “Oh! she’ll be the death of me yet,” replied the aunt, “she’s so reckless. You’d tremble to see her ride, captain, leaping fences and galloping like a wild huntsman. She’ll get thrown and killed yet: she has, all the time, such fractious horses; I never had a minute’s peace in England, and I’m sure I shan’t have any here either.” “Never fear, aunty,” said the niece, affectionately, putting her arm around the other’s waist, and yet with something of the manner with which one would soothe a timorous child. “I’ll not be so lucky as to be thrown romantically from my horse, like heroines in novels, and rescued by some handsome cavalier—” “Nonsense, child.” “Whom I shall marry, of course—” “How foolish you talk.” “Even if I run away with him—” “Pshaw!” said the aunt, quite vexed, not noticing the laughing glance which her niece directed towards the captain. “Well, come then, I was wrong,” said the gay girl, kissing her, “I won’t keep you out in this chill night air. See, I’ll wrap your shawl close about you. Captain Powell will take good care of us even if it does storm.” With these words, they bade the captain good night and descended to their cabin. The skipper continued walking the deck, for some time, listening to the rising wind, and occasionally looking up to the clouds that now began to scud swiftly across the sky. “I was foolish to say even a word to alarm the good old soul,” he remarked at last, as if conversing to himself. “I’ve seen worse nights than this turn into a clear morning. Besides, we have a stout ship and a good offing.” So speaking, he dismissed all idea of possible danger. CHAPTER II. KATE AYLESFORD