brain till I almost became dizzy. I listened to try if I could distinguish from what direction the voice had come.
I waited in agony. Each second seemed a century, and my heart beat like a trip-hammer. Then again I heard the sound—faint, but still clear enough to hear. I shouted with all my power, but once again the roar of the wind overpowered me; however, I ran on towards the voice.
There was a sudden lull in the wind—a blaze of lightning lit up the whole scene, and, some fifty yards before me, I saw two figures struggling at the edge of the rocks. In that welcome glance, infinitesimal though it was, I recognized the red petticoat which, in that place and at that time, could be none other than Norah's. I shouted as I leapt forward; but just then the thunder broke overhead, and in the mighty and prolonged roll every other sound faded into nothingness, as though the thunderclap had come on a primeval stillness. As I drew near to where I had seen the figures, the thunder rolled away, and through its vanishing sound I heard distinctly Norah's voice:—
"Help! Help! Arthur! Father! Help! Help!" Even in that wild moment my heart leaped, that of all names, she called on mine the first.—Whatever men may say, Love and Jealousy are near kinsmen!
I shouted in return, as I ran, but the wind took my voice away—and then I heard her voice again, but fainter than before:—
"Help! Arthur—Father! Is there no one to help me
