"The storm is breaking, my love," said he; "and the air is deliciously cool out there. Put your shawl on and come out." They went out again; the lightning was still vivid, but the thunder less loud. Straight down the garden from them stretched a broad gravel walk, which now, cut up by the rain into a hundred water channels, showed at each flash like rivers of glittering silver. Looking down this path toward the black wood during one of the longest continued illuminations of the lightning, they saw for an instant a dark, tall figure, apparently advancing towards them. Then all the prospect was wrapped again in tenfold gloom. Mrs. Buckley uttered an exclamation, and held tighter to her husband's arm. Every time the garden was lit up, they saw the figure, nearer and nearer, till they knew that it was standing before them in the darkness; the Major was about to speak, when a hoarse voice, heard indistinctly above the rushing of the rain, demanded: "Is that Major Buckley?" At the same minute the storm-light blazed up once more, and fell upon an object so fearful and startling that they both fell back amazed. A woman was standing before them, tall, upright, and bareheaded; her long black hair falling over a face as white and ghastly as a three days' corpse; her wild countenance rendered more terrible by the blue glare of the lightning shining on the rain that streamed from every lock of her hair and every shred of her garments. She looked like some wild daughter of the storm, who had lost her way, and came wandering to them for shelter. "I am Major Buckley," was the answer. "What do you want? But in God's name come in out of the rain." "Come in and get your things dried, my good woman," said Mrs. Buckley. "What do you want with my husband such a night as this?" "Before I dry my things, or come in, I will state my business," said the woman, coming under the verandah. "After that I will accept your hospitality. This is a night when polecats and rabbits would shelter together in peace; and yet such a night as this, a man turns out of his house the woman who has lain beside him twenty years." "Who are you, my good soul?" said the Major. "They call me Madge the Witch," she said; "I lived with old Hawker, at the Woodlands, till to-night, and he has turned me out. I want to put you in possession of some intelligence that may save much misery to some that you love." "I can readily believe that you can do it," said the Major, "but pray don't stand there; come in with my wife, and get your things dried." "Wait till you hear what I have to say: George Hawker, my son--" "Your son--good God!" "I thought you would have known that. The Vicar does. Well, this son of mine has run off with the Vicar's daughter." "Well?"