It was a stormy evening in the first week of November, 1688.  The wind was blowing in fierce gusts, making every door and casement quiver in Davenant Castle, while, between the gusts, the sound of the deep roar of the sea on the rocks far below could be plainly heard.  Mrs. Davenant was sitting in a high-backed chair, on one side of the great fireplace, in which a pile of logs was blazing.  Her son had just laid down a book, which he could no longer see to read, while her daughter-in-law was industriously knitting.  Walter was wandering restlessly between the fire and the window, looking out at the flying clouds, through which the moon occasionally struggled.

“Do sit down, Walter,” his mother said at last.  “You certainly are the most restless creature I ever saw.”

“Not always, mother; but I cannot help wondering about that ship we saw down the coast, making for the bay.  She was about ten miles out, and seemed to be keeping her course when I saw her last, half an hour ago; but I can see, by the clouds, that the wind has drawn round more to the north, and I doubt much whether she will be able to gain the bay.”

“In that case, Walter,” his father said, “if her captain knows his business, he will wear round and run down for Waterford.

“I agree with you,” he continued, after walking to the window and watching the clouds, “that a vessel coming from the south will hardly weather Bray Head, with this wind.”

He had scarcely spoken when the door opened, and one of the servants entered.

“Your honour, a boy has just come up from the village.  He says that John Considine sent him to tell you that a large ship is driving in to shore, and that he thinks she will strike not far from the village.”

“Why, on earth,” Mr. Davenant exclaimed, “doesn’t he tack and stand out to sea!”

“The boy says her foremast is gone, and they have lost all management of her.”

“In that case, God help them!  There is little chance for them on this rocky coast.  However, I will go down at once, and see if anything can be done.

“Katherine, do you see that there are plenty of hot blankets ready, in case any of the poor fellows are washed ashore.  I shall, of course, send them up here.

“I suppose, Walter, you will come down with me.”

But Walter had already disappeared, having slipped off as soon as he had heard the message.

“Don’t let that boy get into mischief, Fergus,” old Mrs. Davenant said.

“I am afraid, mother, he is beyond me,” her son said, with a smile.  “No Davenant yet could ever keep out of mischief, and Walter is no exception.  However, fortunately for us, we generally get out of scrapes as easily as we get into them.”

“Not always, Fergus,” she said, shaking her head.

“No, not always, mother; but exceptions, you know, prove the rule.”

“Well, Godfrey, do you want to go?” he asked the younger boy, who had risen from the table, and was looking eagerly at him.  “Of course you do; but, mind, you must keep close to me.