t seemed to wither
and die, till where it had been was nothing but masses of grey vapour
that arose, gathered, and coalesced into an ashen pall hanging low
above the surface of the ashen sea. The coastguard, watching the glass,
hoisted their warning cone, although as yet there was no breath of wind,
and old sailormen hanging about in knots on the cliff and beach went
to haul up their boats as high as they could drag them, knowing that it
would blow hard by night.

About mid-day the sea began to be troubled, as though its waves were
being pushed on by some force as yet unseen, and before two o'clock
gusts of cold air from the nor'east travelled landwards off the ocean
with a low moaning sound, which was very strange to hear.

As Morris trudged along towards the Dead Church he noticed, as we do
notice such things when our minds are much preoccupied and oppressed,
that these gusts were coming quicker and quicker, although still
separated from each other by periods of aerial calm. Then he remembered
that a great gale had been prophesied in the weather reports, and
thought to himself that they portended its arrival.

He reached the church by the narrow spit of sand and shingle which still
connected it with the shore, passed through the door in the rough brick
wall, closing it behind him, and paused to look. Already under that
heavy sky the light which struggled through the brine-encrusted eastern
window was dim and grey. Presently, however, he discovered the figure
of Stella seated in her accustomed place by the desolate-looking stone
altar, whereon stood the box containing the aerophone that they had used
in their experiments. She was dressed in her dark-coloured ulster, of
which the hood was still drawn over her head, giving her the appearance
of some cloaked nun, lingering, out of time and place, in the ruined
habitations of her worship.

As he advanced she rose and pushed back the hood, revealing the masses
of her waving hair, to which it had served as a sole covering. In
silence Stella stretched out her hand, and in silence Morris took it;
for neither of them seemed to find any words. At length she spoke,
fixing her sad eyes upon his face, and saying:

"You understand that we meet to part. I am going to London to-morrow; my
father has consented."

"That is Christmas Day," he faltered.

"Yes, but there is an early train, the same that runs on Sundays."

Then there was another pause.

"I wish to ask your pardon