Mount Sweeney was besieged by a storm that night. Shutters rattled, doors slammed and the rain seemed to hurl itself against the window panes as loudly as pebbles from the sea shore. Caroline lay in her curtained bed listening to the surf booming against the rocks below, unable to sleep, and unable to escape from her scurrying, tormented thoughts. It really did seem that Gilbert was one of the night people. What was he doing? Why had he joined such a sinister band of men?