e
found the crossing, returned along the side of the bank, trudged along
the cart track until he arrived at the gate, and climbed up on the dyke
without misadventure. From here he made his way more cautiously, using
his stick with his right hand, his torch, with his thumb upon the
knob, in his left. The lull in the storm seemed to be at an end. Black,
low-hanging clouds were closing in upon him. Away to the right, where
the line of marshes was unbroken, the boom of the wind grew louder. A
gust very nearly blew him down the bank. He was compelled to shelter for
a moment on its lee side, whilst a scud of snow and sleet passed like an
icy whirlwind. The roar of the sea was full in his ears now, and though
he must still have been fully two hundred yards away from it, little
ghostly specks of white spray were dashed, every now and then, into his
face. From here he made his way with great care, almost crawling, until
he came to the stile. In the marshes he was twice in salt water over his
knees, but he scrambled out until he reached the grass-grown sand bank
which Furley had indicated. Obeying orders, he lay down and listened
intently for any fainter sounds mingled with the tumult of nature. After
a few minutes, it was astonishing how his eyes found themselves able to
penetrate the darkness which at first had seemed like a black wall. Some
distance to the right he could make out the outline of a deserted barn,
once used as a coast-guard station and now only a depository for the
storing of life belts. In front of him he could trace the bank of
shingle and the line of the sea, and presently the outline of some dark
object, lying just out of reach of the breaking waves, attracted his
attention. He watched it steadily. For some time it was as motionless
as the log he presumed it to be. Then, without any warning, it hunched
itself up and drew a little farther back. There was no longer any doubt.
It was a human being, lying on its stomach with its head turned to the
sea.

Julian, who had entered upon his adventure with the supercilious
incredulity of a staunch unbeliever invited to a spiritualist's seance,
was conscious for a moment of an absolutely new sensation. A person of
acute psychological instincts, he found himself analysing that sensation
almost as soon as it was conceived.

"There is no doubt," he confessed under his breath, "that I am afraid!"

His heart was beating with unaccustomed vigour; he was conscious of
an acu