"It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. It had been her home for hundreds of years. Secretly she was gratified to be assigned to the rôle of an old traveller. "To be lonely! What is physical torture, if someone who loves you is nigh? But to be alone … as I am!… yes, and as you are! Oh, you haven't told me, but I can see with half an eye. And all this time perhaps you have been waiting, expecting to hear from me.
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