At the name of the Rock, Mrs. Davenport looked up and shuddered visibly, and said, as she rested slightly on the back of her chair: "The Black Rock is a hideous place." Then, turning to Alfred: "You must not go there." "I am altogether in the hands of this unprincipled wretch," answered Alfred, smiling and nodding at Jerry. "Then," said Jerry, "if you are not very civil--if you show a disposition to exhibit your Goliath-like prowess on me, I shall take you to the Black Rock, and first frighten the life out of you, and then throw you into the Puffing Hole, where, except you are the ghost of your own grandfather, or something equally monstrous, you will be promptly smashed into ten billions of invisible atoms." The rest of the dinner passed off quietly. When the dessert had been put on the table, and the servants had withdrawn, Mr. Paulton said: "Mr. O'Brien, I have often heard you talk of this Black Rock and the Puffing Hole, but I am afraid I never had the industry to ask you for a description of either. Are they very wonderful?" "There is nothing wonderful about the Rock, except its extent and peculiar shape and colour. But the Puffing Hole, although not unique, is curious and terrible." "I am doubly interested in them now, since I have the pleasure of numbering Mrs. Davenport among my friends. What are the Black Rock and Puffing Hole like?" He smiled, and bent gallantly towards the widow. "I think," said Jerry, "Mrs. Davenport herself is the best person to give you a description of either. Her house is near them, and she has lived, I may say, next door to them for years, and knows more than I do of the place. To make the matter even, if Mrs. Davenport will do the description I will do the narrative part of the tale. That is a fair division." Mrs. Davenport trembled slightly again, and was about to speak, when Mr. Paulton said, in a tone of impetuous persuasion: "Your house near these strange freaks of nature, Mrs. Davenport! Of course I did not know that, or I should not have dreamed of asking Mr. O'Brien for an account of them." The old man's belief was that it would divert Mrs. Davenport's mind from wholly gloomy subjects if she were only induced to speak of matters of general interest. She shook her head sadly. "It is true my home was for many years at Kilcash House, which is near the Black Rock. But----" She paused, and a peculiar smile took possession of her face. All eyes were fixed on her in expectation. No one cared to speak. What could that strange break mean? Surely, to describe a scene or phenomenon of the coast with which she was most familiar could not be very distressing? "But," she resumed, "it is my home no longer. It is true I am going back there for a little time--a few weeks; but that is only to arrange matters. I have now no home."