but neither do I see that it can do you any harm; therefore, if you have set your mind on it, read it, my boy."
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.
"Ah, Father John!" he broke off, as an ecclesiastic, muffled up to the throat in wrappings, entered the room. "Are you going down, too?"
"Assuredly I am, Fergus. You don't think a trifle of wind would keep me from doing my duty?"
In another two minutes, the two men and Godfrey sallied out. They staggered as the wind struck them, and Godfrey clung to his father's arm. Not a word was spoken as they made their way down the steep descent to the village, which consisted of about a dozen fishermen's huts. Indeed, speaking would have been useless, for no word would have been heard above the howling of the storm.
The vessel was visible to them, as they made their way down the hill. She was a complete wreck. The light of the moon was sufficient for them to see that she had, as the boy said, lost her foremast. Her sails were in ribbons, and she was labouring heavily in the sea, each wave that struck her breaking over her bows and sweeping along her deck. There was no hope for her. She could neither tack nor wear, and no anchor would hold for a moment on that rocky bottom, in such a sea.
On reaching the village, they joined a group of fishermen who were standing under the shelter of the end of a cottage.
"Can nothing be done, Considine?" Mr. Davenant shouted, in the ear of one of the fishermen.
"Not a thing, yer honour. She has just let drop one of her anchors."
"But they could not hope it would hold there," Mr. Davenant said.
"Not they, your honour, onless they were mad. They hoped it would hoult so as to bring her head round; but the cable went, as soon as the strain came. I saw her head go sharp up to the wind, and then fall off again; not that it would have made much difference in the end, though it would have given them half an hour longer of life."
"Could we get a boat off with a line, if she strikes?"
"Look at the sea, yer honour. Mr. Walter has been asking us; but there's no boat could get through that surf, not if all Ireland dipinded on it."
"Where is Walter?"
"Sure and I can't tell ye, yer honour. He was here a few minutes since; but what's come of him is more nor I can tell ye."
"He went off with Larry Doolan," a boy, who was standing next to the fisherman, shouted.
"Then, as sure as fate, they are up to some mischief," Mr. Davenant said. "Walter is bad enough by himself, but with Larry to help him, it would take a regiment to look after them."
"They can't be in much mischief tonight, yer honour," the fisherman said.
"Look, sir, she's coming in fast. She draws a power of water, and she will strike in a minute or two."
"She seems crowded with men. Can nothing be done to help them?" the priest asked.
"Nothing, your reverence. Praying for them is the only thing that can help the poor sowls now."
"You are sure it's not possible to launch a boat, Considine?"
"Look for yourself, yer honour. There's not a boat on the coast that could get through them breakers."
"There she goes."
Even above the noise of the storm, a loud cry was heard, and the crash of breaking timber as, with the shock, the main and mizzen masts, weakened by the loss of the foremast, went over the sides. The next great wave drove the vessel forward two or three fathoms.
"That's her last move," Considine said. "The rocks will be through her bottom, now."
"They are off," a boy shouted, running up.
"Who are off?" Considine asked.
"The young squire and Larry Doolan."
"Off where?" Mr. Davenant exclaimed.
"Off in the curragh, yer honour. Me and Tim Connolly helped them carry it round the Nose, and they launched
