CHAPTER IX.
REUBEN STREET.
All night the storm increased in violence, blowing straight from the north-west with an incessant fury which tossed and tore the waters of the bay.

Against the black cliffs the foaming waves hurled themselves like fierce animals leaping up to reach their prey, but the adamant rocks, which had defied their rage for centuries, still stood firm, and flung them back panting and foaming into the swirling depths below, to rise again with ever-increasing strength, until the showers of spray reached up even to the grassy slopes on which the sheep huddled together.
Valmai had lain with wide-open eyes through the long hours of the night, listening with a shrinking fear to every fresh gust which threatened to sweep the old house away.

No raging storm or shrieking wind had ever before done more than rouse her for a moment from the sound sleep of youth, to turn on her pillow and fall asleep again; but to-night she could not rest, she was unnerved by the strain and excitement of the day, and felt like some wandering, shivering creature whose every nerve was exposed to the anger of the elements.

When at last it was time to rise and prepare her uncle's breakfast, she felt beaten and weary, and looked so pale and hollow-eyed, that Shoni, who was fighting his way in at the back door as she appeared, exclaimed in astonishment.
"What's the matter with you, Valmai?
You bin out in the storm all night ?" "Almost as bad, indeed, Shoni; there's a dreadful wind it is." "Oh, 'tis not come to the worst yet," said Shoni.
The doors continued to bang and the windows to rattle all through that day and the greater part of the next, and it was not till the evening of the third day that Valmai ventured to put on her cloak and pay a visit to Nance's cottage.

The tide was low as she crossed the Rock Bridge, and there was no danger, therefore, from the waves.