A few days after the receipt of my uncle's letter, I went for a ramble along the cliffs towards Polperro. It was about seven in the evening when I started. All day a thick white mist had hung over the sea, but just before I set out on my walk the mist disappeared with remarkable suddenness, and a strong southerly wind began to send the heavy rollers thundering against the cliffs. As twilight deepened into night, I could see the double half-minute flash of the Eddystone, till a cloudbank obscured the friendly light. "We're in for a dirty night," I remarked to myself in nautical parlance, and the dark-brown sails of the fishing-boats, showing dimly against the white-crested waves as they ran for shelter, supported my supposition. Before I reached home the storm was at its height, the wind howling over our chimney-pots in spite of the comparatively sheltered position of the house. "Your Uncle Herbert will be having a lively time of it, if he is anywhere near the Channel," remarked my father, while we were at supper. "Yes; but it doesn't matter so much on a liner," I replied. "It's the fishing-boats and small coasters that suffer as a rule in these gales." "That's true; so long as the navigation lights are visible, steamers have little to fear. But, my word! Crosbie was bringing his ten-tonner round from Falmouth to-day. I wonder how he got on. I suppose you didn't notice her in the harbour as you came across?" "You mean the 'Dorothy'? No, she wasn't on her moorings at five o'clock." "It's too late to make inquiries at the club," replied my father, consulting his watch. "But I think I'll stroll up to the coastguard station and ask if she has been seen. Put on your oilskins, Reggie, and come too--that is, if you don't mind the rain." Together we toiled up the steep path that led up to the coastguard look-out hut, and every step towards the hill brought us more exposed to the howling wind and the biting rain, till we were glad to gain the shelter of a rough cairn that served as a wind-screen. Out of the darkness loomed an object that resolved itself into the coastguard on duty, who, clad in oileys and sou'-wester, kept faithful watch and ward on this exposed and bleak position. "Good evening, McCallum." "Good evening, sir; it blows a bit fresh to-night." "Anything startling?" "Not so far as I knows of, sir; all the boats 'ave come in." "That's something to be thankful for," remarked my father. "But has anything been seen or heard of Mr. Crosbie's 'Dorothy'? I believe she is making a passage from Falmouth to-day." "Mr. Crosbie ain't no mug at the game," replied the man. "Strikes me he's either put back or run into Mevagissey." "I hope so, too," rejoined my father; and the conversation, which had been conducted by sheer strength of lungs, owing to the howling of the wind, ceased, and we relapsed into complete silence.