They listened till the horse-hoofs had died on the ear, then they turned together to the house. “Let me stay with you to-night, Hilary――do,” said Nest, coaxingly; “it will be so melancholy for you to sit here all alone, and listen to the great roar of the waves.” Hilary smiled an assent, and they sat down together. It was not quite nine o’clock when Maurice left them; but as they could not expect him back for more than a couple of hours, Mrs. Hepburn did not intend that her younger sister, who was now growing into a tall girl of thirteen, somewhat delicate and fragile, should remain watching till nearly midnight. It was true that she herself felt unusually nervous and uncomfortable to-night, but these were foolish tremors, to which it would not do to give way; and Nest’s health must not be sacrificed to her own idle fancies; she resolved that no persuasion should induce her to prolong their joint vigil. The wildness of the night seemed to have affected even Nest’s spirits; instead of chatting in her usual lively manner, she was almost silent, only now and then exclaiming as a louder burst of wind seemed to roll over the house, or a heavier wave dashed against the rocks below. Hilary had learned to love the deep roar, the hollow murmur, and the angry rush of the ocean-wave; they spoke to her of other times, in a strange language which was intelligible only to the finer feelings. What the connection was between their voices and the memory of the lost one, she could not have explained; but she never heard the one without musing on the other; and now her heart had traveled away to by-gone hours, as she sat by the fire, until roused by the clock striking ten, she begged Nest to go to bed. But Nest still remonstrated, and entreated to stay; and to beguile the time, began asking questions of their old home, and leading Hilary to talk of her childhood; and so the minutes flew by, until it was really time to look for Maurice home; and Hilary again urged Nest to retire; Maurice would be vexed to find her up so late. Still Nest said, no, he would not; he would not mind it for once; she must let her sit up, and when he came home they would have a little comfortable supper together. While they were discussing this point, the younger, with a decided disinclination to leave her sister, and the elder almost equally unwilling to let her go, they heard, during a lull, the sound of a horse approaching at a rapid pace. “It is Maurice!” said Hilary. “No, that is not his riding; he went out on Acorn, and he never gallops him so hard,” replied Nest, listening. Hilary looked uneasy; ever since the one great shock she had received, her nerves were as easily agitated as a compass-needle, and though like it, too equally balanced to be moved from the center of rest, still they “Turned at the touch of joy or woe, And turning, trembled too.”