The wind was blowing as if it would blow him off the mountain, but, anxious about his mother and the princess, Curdie darted up through the thick of the tempest.Even if they had not set out before the storm came on, he did not judge them safe, for in such a storm even their poor little house was in danger.Indeed he soon found that but for a huge rock against which it was built, and which protected it both from the blasts and the waters, it must have been swept if it was not blown away; for the two torrents into which this rock parted the rush of water behind it united again in front of the cottage - two roaring and dangerous streams, which his mother and the princess could not possibly have passed.It was with great difficulty that he forced his way through one of them, and up to the door.
The moment his hand fell on the latch, through all the uproar of winds and Waters came the joyous cry of the princess:
'There's Curdie! Curdie! Curdie!'
She was sitting wrapped in blankets on the bed, his mother trying for the hundredth time to light the fire which had been drowned by the rain that came down the chimney.The clay floor was one mass of mud, and the whole place looked wretched.But the faces of the mother and the princess shone as if their troubles only made them the merrier.Curdie burst out laughing at the sight of them.