cloak closely round her, walked homewards at a snail's pace. By the
church gate she met the belated Methodists hurrying up, and passed a
word or two of information that sent them panting on. A little beyond,
at the point where the peninsula joins the mainland, she faced round to
the wind again for a last glance. Three men were following her slowly
down the ridge with a burden between them. It was the first of the
rescued crew--a lifeless figure wrapped in oil-skins, with one arm
hanging limply down, as if broken. Ruby halted, and gave time to come
up.

"Hey, lads," shouted Old Zeb, who walked first, with a hand round each
of the figure's sea-boots; "now that's what I'd call a proper womanly
masterpiece, to run home to Sheba an' change her stockings in time for
the randivoose."

"I don't understand," said his prospective daughter-in-law, haughtily.

"O boundless depth! Rest the poor mortal down, mates, while I take
breath to humour her. Why, my dear, you must know from my tellin' that
there _hev_ a-been such a misfortunate goin's on as a wreck,
hereabouts."

He paused to shake the rain out of his hat and whiskers. Ruby stole a
look at the oil-skin. The sailor's upturned face was of a sickly
yellow, smeared with blood and crusted with salt. The same white crust
filled the hollows of his closed eyes, and streaked his beard and hair.
It turned her faint for the moment.

"An the wreck's scat abroad," continued Old Zeb; an' the interpretation
thereof is barrels an' nuts. What's more, tide'll be runnin' for two