ll-haunted only.

"Here is a marvel," he cries, turning to his thane. "Many a time
have I hunted along this shore, but never before have I seen the
like of this here."

He laughs, and points below him toward the sand, and his thane
rides nearer. The tide has crept almost to the foot of the ancient
sea wall, and gently rocking on it lies a wondrously beautiful boat
with red and white sail set, but with no man, or aught living
beyond the white terns which hover and swoop about it, to be seen.

"'Tis a foreign boat," says the thane. "Our folk cannot frame such
an one as this. Doubtless she has broken her line from astern of
some ship last night, and so has been wafted hither."

"Men do not tow a boat with her sail set," laughs the king. "Let us
go and see her."

So they ride shoreward across the dunes, and ever the breeze edges
the boat nearer and nearer, till at last she is at rest on the edge
of the tide, lifting now and then as some little wave runs beneath
her sharp stern. For once the North Sea is still, and even the
brown water of the Humber tides is blue across the yellow sands.

The horses come swiftly and noiselessly across the strand, but the
white steed of the king is restless as he nears the boat, sniffing
the air and tossing his head. The king speaks to him, thinking that
it is the swinging sail which he pretends to fear. And then the
horse starts and almost rears, for at the sound of the clear voice
there rises somewhat from the hollow of the little craft, and the
king himself stays in amaze.

For he sees before him the most wondrously beautiful maiden his
eyes have rested on, golden-haired and blue-eyed, wan and weary
with the long voyage from the far-off shore, and holding out to him
piteous hands, blistered with the rough sheet and steering oar. She
says naught, but naught is needed.

"Lady," he says, doffing his gold-circled cap, "have no fear. All
is well, and you are safe. Whence come you?"

But he has no answer, for the maiden sinks back into the boat
swooning. Then in all haste the king sends his thane for help to
the party they have left; and so he sits on the boat's gunwale and
watches the worn face pityingly.

Now come his men, and at his word they tend the maiden with all
care, so that very soon she revives again, and can tell her tale.
Beyond the hunger and thirst there has indeed been little hardship
to a daughter of the sea in the summer weather, for the breeze has
been kindly and