“You may rely upon my prudence, sir,” said Gieeson. “I think I can promise that Mr. Lionel will not take offence at my freedom. May I say Tuesday to wait on you with the deeds,--Tuesday morning?” “Of course, whenever you appoint, I 'll be ready. I hoped to have left town this week; but these are too important matters to bear postponement. Tuesday, then, be it.” And with a friendly shake-hands, they parted,--Gleeson, to the duties of his laborious life; the Knight, with a mind less at ease than was his wont, but still bearing no trace of discomposure on his manly and handsome countenance. CHAPTER XII. A FIRST VISIT “Whenever Captain Forester is quite able to bear the fatigue, Sullivan,--mind that you say 'quite able,'--it will give me much pleasure to receive him.” Such was the answer Lady Eleanor Darcy returned to a polite message from the young officer, expressing his desire to visit Lady Eleanor and thank her for the unwearied kindness she had bestowed on him during his illness. Lady Eleanor and her daughter were seated in the same chamber in which they have already been introduced to the reader. It was towards the close of a dark and gloomy day, the air heavy and overcast towards the land, while, over the sea, masses of black, misshapen cloud were drifted along hurriedly, the presage of a coming storm. The pine wood blazed brightly on the wide hearth, and threw its mellow lustre over the antique carvings and the porcelain ornaments of the chamber, contrasting the glow of in-door comfort with the bleak and cheerless look of all without, where the crashing noise of breaking branches mingled with the yet sadder sound of the swollen torrent from the mountain. It may be remarked that persons who have lived much on the seaside, and near a coast abounding in difficulties or dangers, are far more susceptible of the influences of weather than those who pass their lives inland. Storm and shipwreck become, in a measure, inseparably associated. The loud beating of the waves upon the rocky shore, the deafening thunder of the swollen breakers, speak with a voice to _their_ hearts, full of most meaning terror. The moaning accents of the spent wind, and the wailing cry of the petrel, awake thoughts of those who journey over “the great waters,” amid perils more dreadful than all of man's devising. Partly from these causes, partly from influences of a different kind, both mother and daughter felt unusually sad and depressed, and had sat for a long interval without speaking, when Forester's message was delivered, requesting leave to pay his personal respects.