The child was so possessed by the commotion without that she did not seem even to see my rebuke, not to say feel it. She ran off, and Wynnie presently came. I left her with Connie, put on a long waterproof cloak, and went down to the dining-room. A door led from it immediately on to the little green in front of the house, between it and the sea. The dining-room was dark, for they had put out the lights that they might see better from the windows. The children and some of the servants were there looking out. I opened the door cautiously. It needed the strength of two of the women to shut it behind me. The moment I opened it a great sheet of spray rushed over me. I went down the little grassy slope. The rain had ceased, and it was not quite so dark as I had expected. I could see the gleaming whiteness all before me. The next moment a wave rolled over the low wall in front of me, breaking on it and wrapping me round in a sheet of water. Something hurt me sharply on the leg; and I found, on searching, that one of the large flat stones that lay for coping on the top of the wall was on the grass beside me. If it had struck me straight, it must have broken my leg. There came a little lull in the wind, and just as I turned to go into the house again, I thought I heard a gun. I stood and listened, but heard nothing more, and fancied I must have been mistaken. I returned and tapped at the door; but I had to knock loudly before they heard me within. When I went up to the drawing-room, I found that Percivale had joined our party. He and Turner were talking together at one of the windows. “Did you hear a gun?” I asked them. “No. Was there one?” “I’m not sure. I half-fancied I heard one, but no other followed. There will be a good many fired to-night, though, along this awful coast.” “I suppose they keep the life-boat always ready,” said Turner. “No life-boat even, I fear, would live in such a sea,” I said, remembering what the officer of the coast-guard had told me. “They would try, though, I suppose,” said Turner. “I do not know,” said Percivale. “I don’t know the people. But I have seen a life-boat out in as bad a night--whether in as bad a sea, I cannot tell: that depends on the coast, I suppose.” We went on chatting for some time, wondering how the coast-guard had fared with the vessel ashore at the Goose-pot. Wynnie joined us. “How is Connie, now, my dear?” “Very restless and excited, papa. I came down to say, that if Mr. Turner didn’t mind, I wish he would go up and see her.” “Of course--instantly,” said Turner, and moved to follow Winnie. But the same moment, as if it had been beside us in the room, so clear, so shrill was it, we heard Connie’s voice shrieking, “Papa, papa! There’s a great ship ashore down there. Come, come!”