With that love of the marvellous and the morbid peculiar to their class, her servants had every few minutes brought intelligence of the number of corpses, gashed and mangled, which strewed the beach; of treasures and rich stuffs which came ashore from the wreck, and so forth; but, by reading her letters and other occupations, she had striven to wean herself from thinking too much of the terrors that reigned without, though every gust of wind that howled round the old tower brought to mind the bulged ship, and made her sigh for the absence of her husband and son, both far away from her; and now starting up, she listened to the narrative of Dominie Skail and his gossip, Mr. Girvan. "Ugh!" concluded the latter; "I've never had such a soaking since I tumbled into the Weser, in heavy marching order, the night before Minden; and drowned I should have been, but for the ready hand of Rohallion." "But this child you speak of--where is it?" asked Lady Winifred. "Wi' auld Elsie Irvine, down by the coves, my lady," replied the dominie, with one of his most respectful bows. "The poor little thing is alive, then?" "Yes--alive, warm, and sleeping cosily in Elsie's breast by this time--cosily as ever bairn o' her ain did." "Bring this child to me in the morning, dominie--you will see to it?" "Yes, my lady." "A boy, you say it is?" "Yes." "And what is he like, John Girvan? "Just like other bairns, my lady." "How?" "With yellow hair and a nose above his chin," replied the quartermaster, wiping the water out of his neck and wig. "A bonnie golden-haired bairnie as ever you saw, Lady Rohallion," replied the dominie, with a glistening eye, for he had a kinder heart for children than the old bachelor Girvan; "and he minded me much of your ladyship's son, the master, when about the same size or age." "And this poor child is the sole survivor of the wreck?" "So far as we can learn, the sole--the only one!" "Heaven help us! this is very sad!" exclaimed the lady, while her eyes filled with tears. "Many a mother will have a sore heart after this storm, and more than one widow may weep for a husband drowned." "Ay, madam, in warring wi' the elements, we feel ourselves what the Epicureans of old dreamed they were--scarcely the creation of a benevolent Being, so helpless and infirm is man when opposed to them." "Bother the Epicureans, whoever they were; wring the water out of your wig, dominie," said the quartermaster. "Any bodies that come ashore must be noted, examined, and buried with due reverence." "Yes, my lady," replied the dominie; "we'll have to see the minister and the sheriff anent this matter." "Dominie, the butler will attend to you and Mr. Girvan. You are quite wet, so lose no time in getting your clothes changed; and bring me in the morning this little waif of the ocean, whom I quite long to see. Until we discover his parentage, he shall be my peculiar care."