windows of my mother's room. But his voice was swirled away in the
whistling of the wind, and after a while the hoofs of his horses went
champing over the gravel in the direction of the gate.

When my father returned to his room, shaking the rain from his hair and
beard, he was fuming with indignation. Perhaps a memory of forty years
ago was seething in his excited brain.

"The old scoundrel," he said. "He'd like it, wouldn't he? They'd all
like it! Which of them wants a son of mine amongst them?"

The roaring night outside became yet more terrible. So loud was the
noise from the shore that it was almost as if a wild beast were trying
to liberate itself from the womb of the sea. At one moment Aunt Bridget
came downstairs to say that the storm was frightening my mother. All the
servants of the house were gathered in the hall, full of fear, and
telling each other superstitious stories.

Suddenly there came a lull. Rain and wind seemed to cease in an instant.
The clamour of the sea became less and the tolling of the bell on St.
Mary's Rock died away in the distance. It was almost as if the world,
which had been whirling through space, suddenly stood still.

In that moment of silence a deeper moan than usual came from the room
overhead. My father dropped into a chair, clasped his hands and closed
his eyes. Father Dan rattled his pearl beads and moved his lips, but
uttered no sound.

Then a faint sound came from the room overhead. My father opened his
eyes and listened. Father Dan held his breath. The sound was repeated,
but louder, clearer, shriller than before. There could be no mistaking
it now. It was Nature's eternal signal that out of the womb of silence a
living soul had been born into the world.

"It's over," said my father.

"Glory be to God and all the Saints!" said Father Dan.

"That'll beat 'em," cried my father, and he leapt to his feet and
laughed.

Going to the door of the room, he flung it open. The servants in the
hall were now whispering eagerly, and one of them, the gardener, Tom
Dug, commonly called Tommy the Mate, stepped out and asked if he ought
to ring the big bell.

"Certainly," said my father. "Isn't that what you've been standing by
for?"

A few minutes later the bell of the tower began to ring, and it was
followed almost immediately by the bell of our parish church, which rang
out a merry peal.

"That'll beat 'em, I say," cried my father, and laughing in his triumph
he tramped t