The rain fell, and on the third day the wind beat, and much soil was washed down into the verdant, ferny gullies, and out to sea. The waves beat and eddied and churned up the viscous sea-wrack till the foam was fixed and sent flying in balls and flakes up the rocks and over the fields, where it lay like dirty snow. In and out of the caverns the sea rushed and bellowed and roared, driving the air in before it, till the earth seemed to quiver, and the confined air escaped with a report like that of some explosion. Then the gale passed over, the stars came out, and in the morning, save that the sea looked muddy instead of crystal clear and pure, all was sunshine and joy. During the storm there had been an inquest, and with the rain pouring down till there were inches of water in the grave, the body of the unfortunate man was laid to rest. Duncan Leslie had been busy for a couple of hours in a restless, excited way, till, happening to look down from up by his engine-house, he caught sight of a grey-looking figure seated upon a stone by the cliff-path. Giving a few orders, he hurried along the track. Uncle Luke saw him coming, out of the corner of one eye, but he did not move, only sat with his hands resting upon his stick, gazing out at the fishing-boats, which seemed to be revelling in the calm and sunshine, and gliding out to sea. "Good morning." "Bah! nothing of the kind," said Uncle Luke, viciously. "There isn't such a thing." "No?" said Leslie, smiling sadly. "Nothing of the kind. Life's all a mistake. The world's a round ball of brambles with a trouble on every thorn. Young Harry has the best of it, after all. Get wet?" "Yesterday at the funeral? Yes, very." "Hah! Saw you were there. Horrible day. Well, good job it's all over." Leslie was silent, and stood watching the old man. "Something upset you?" he said at last. "Upset me? Do you think it's possible for me to go to my brother's without being upset?" "No, no. It has been a terrible business for you all." "Wasn't talking about that," snapped out Uncle Luke. "That's dead and buried and forgotten." "No, sir; not forgotten." "I said, `and forgotten.'" Leslie bowed. "Confound that woman!" continued Uncle Luke, after a pause. "Talk about Huguenot martyrs, sir; my brother George and that girl have lived a life of martyrdom putting up with her." "She is old and eccentric." "She has no business to be old and eccentric. Nobody has, sir; unless-- unless he shuts himself up all alone as I do myself. I never worry any one; I only ask to be let alone. There, you needn't sneer." "I did not sneer, sir."