ce wheels
had passed that way.

At Jury's Gap, a long white-daubed coastguard station marked the end of
the road. Only a foot-track ran out to the Ness. They left the horse and
trap at the station and went afoot.

"I told you it was a tedious place," said Joanna. Like a great many busy
people she did not like walking, which she always looked upon as a waste
of time. Martin could seldom persuade her to come for a long walk.

It was a long walk up the Ness, and the going was bad, owing to the
shingle. The sea-campion grew everywhere, and in sunny corners the
yellow-horned poppy put little spots of colour into a landscape of
pinkish grey. The sea was the same colour as the land, for the sun had
sunk away into the low thick heavens, leaving the sea an unrelieved,
tossed dun waste.

The wind came tearing across Rye Bay with a moan, lifting all the waves
into little sharp bitter crests.

"We'll get the rain," said Joanna sagely.

"I don't care if we do," said Martin.

"You haven't brought your overcoat."

"Never mind that."

"I do mind."

His robust appearance--his broad back and shoulders, thick vigorous neck
and swarthy skin--only magnified his pathos in her eyes. It was pitiful
that this great thing should be so frail.... He could pick her up with
both hands on her waist, and hold her up before him, the big Joanna--and
yet she must take care of him.

Sec.17

An hour's walking brought them to the end of the Ness--to a strange
forsaken country of coastguard stations and lonely taverns and shingle
tracks. The lighthouse stood only a few feet above the sea, at the end
of the point, and immediately before it the water dropped to sinister,
glaucous depths.

"Well, it ain't much to see," said Joanna.

"It's wonderful," said Martin--"it's terrible."

He stood looking out to sea, into the Channel streaked with green and
grey, as if he would draw France out of the southward fogs. He felt
half-way to France ... here on the end of this lonely crane, with water
each side of him and ahead, and behind him the shingle which was the
uttermost of Kent.

"Joanna--don't you feel it, too?"

"Yes--maybe I do. It's queer and lonesome--I'm glad I've got you,
Martin."

She suddenly came close to him and put out her arms, hiding her face
against his heart.

"Child--what is it?"

"I dunno. Maybe it's this place, but I feel scared. Oh, Martin, you'll
never leave me? You'll always be good to me?..."

"I ... oh, my