as left he refused to give way. Would this dreadful darkness never end?
For the fiftieth time he glanced back over his shoulder, and now, he was
sure of it, the east grew ashen. He waited awhile, for the November dawn
is slow in breaking, then looked again. Heaven be thanked! the cold wind
had driven away the clouds, and there, upon the edge of the horizon,
peeped up the fiery circle of the sun, throwing long rays of sickly
yellow across the grey, troubled surface of the waters. In front of him
lay a dense bank of fog, which, from its character, as Morris knew well,
must emanate from the reeking face of earth. They were near shore, it
could not be doubted; still, he did not wake his companion. Perhaps he
might be in error, and sleep, even a death-sleep, is better than the
cheatings of disappointed hope.

What was that dim object in front of him? Surely it must be the ruin
a mile or so to the north of Monksland, that was known as the Death
Church? Once a village stood here, but the sea had taken most of it;
indeed, all that remained to-day was this old, deserted fane, which,
having been built upon a breast of rising ground, still remained,
awaiting its destruction by the slow sap of the advancing ocean. Even
now, at times of very high tide, the sea closed in behind, cutting the
fabric off from the mainland, where it looked like a forsaken lighthouse
rather than the tower and chancel of a church. But there, not much more
than a mile away, yes, there it was, and Morris felt proud to think how
straight he had steered homewards through that stormy darkness.

The sea was still wild and high, but he was familiar with every inch of
the coast, and knew well that there was a spot to the south of the Dead
Church, just where the last rood of graveyard met the sand, upon which
he could beach the boat safely even in worse weather. For this nook
Morris headed with a new energy; the fires of life and hope burnt up in
him, giving him back his strength and judgment.

At last they were opposite to the place, and, watching his chance, he
put the helm down and ran in upon the crest of a wave, till the boat
grounded in the soft sand, and began to wallow there like a dying thing.
Fearing lest the back-wash should suck them off into the surf again, he
rolled himself into the water, for jump he could not; indeed, it was
as much as he could do to stand. With a last effort of his strength he
seized Stella in his arms and struggled with her to th