The storm gathered force every moment, so that when at last I turned to go home I had to crawl a yard or two to shelter before I could stand on my feet.
As for the sheep, unless Tim had driven them in, which was not likely, they would have to shift for themselves for this night.

It was too late to see them, and Con, who limped at my heels, had not a yap left in him.
As I staggered home, leaning my back against the wind, I could not help wondering what this strange boat might be, and why she should make for the lough on so perilous a course.

She might be a smuggler anxious to avoid the observation of the revenue officers.

If so, her cargo must be precious indeed to make up for the risk she ran.

Or she might be a foreigner, driven in by one of the king's cruisers, which had not dared to follow her into the bay.
Whatever she was, she was a pretty sailer, and prettily handled.