It was only when he tried to look through the telescope, and found that his hand shook so much that he could not fix the object, that he himself knew how agitated he was. He drew his hand across his brow and found it clammy, with a profuse and cold perspiration. By this time it was so dark that he had to grope his way down the narrow stairs to his room below. He called for Molly. “Who was that you were talking to? I heard a strange roice without there.” “Old Moriarty, the pilot, your honour; I brought him in out of the wet to dry himself.” “Send him in here to me,” said Luttrell, who, throwing a root of oak on the fire, sat down with his back to the door, and where no light should fall upon his face. “It’s blowing fresh, Moriarty,” said he, with an affected ease of manner, as the old man entered and stood nigh the door. “More than fresh, your honour. It’s blowin’ hard.” “You say that, because you haven’t been at sea these five-and-twenty years; but it’s not blowing as it blew the night I came up from Clew, no, nor the day that we rounded Tory Island.” “Maybe not; but it’s not at its worst yet,” said the old fellow, who was ill-pleased at the sneer at his seamanship. “I don’t know what the fellows here think of such weather, but a crew of Norway fishermen--ay, or a set of Deal boatmen--would laugh at it.” “Listen to that now, then,” said the other, “and it’s no laughing matter;” and as he spoke a fierce gust of wind tore past, carrying the spray in great sheets, and striking against the walls and windows with a clap like thunder. “That was a squall to try any boat!” “Not a boat like the large yawl!” “If it didn’t throw two tons of water aboard of her, my name isn’t Moriarty.” “Master Harry is enjoying it, I’m certain,” said Luttrell, trying to seem at ease. “Well! It’s too much for a child,” said the old man, sorrowfully. “What do you mean by a child? He’s no child, he’s a well-grown boy, and if he’s eyer to have a man’s heart in him, ought to begin to feel it now.” “It was no night to send him out, anyhow; and I say it, though it was your honour did it!” “Because you’re an old fool, and you think you can presume upon your white head and your tottering limbs. Look here; answer me this----” A fearful thunder roll, followed by a rattling crash like small-arms, drowned his words. “It _is_ a severe night,” said he, “and if she wasn’t a fine sea-boat, with a good crew on board her, I’d not feel so easy!” “Good as she is, it will thry her.” “What a faint-hearted old dog you are, and you were a pilot once.” “I was, Sir. I took Sir George Bowyer up the Chesapeak, and Commodore Warren could tell you whether I know the Baltic Sea.” “And you are frightened by a night like this!” “I’m not frightened, Sir; but I’d not send a child out in it, just for----” He stopped, and tried to fall back behind the door. “Just for what?” said Luttrell, with a calm and even gentle voice-- “just for what?”