"Would you mind seeing to my room now, Mrs. Hollings?" I asked. "I am
going out early this morning."

Mrs. Hollings ascended my frail little staircase. I finished my
breakfast in haste, and catching up my hat escaped out of doors.

I shall never forget the glory of that morning. The sky was blue and
cloudless, the sun was as hot as though this were indeed a midsummer
morning. The whole land, saturated still with the fast receding sea,
seemed to gleam and glitter with a strange iridescence. Great pools in
unaccustomed places shone like burnished silver, the wet sands were
sparkling and brilliant, the creeks had become swollen rivers full of
huge masses of emerald seaweed, running far up into the marshland and
spreading themselves out over the meadows beyond. There was salt in the
very atmosphere. I felt it on my tongue, and my cheeks were rough with
it. Overhead the seagulls in great flocks were returning from shelter,
screaming as though with joy as they dived down to the sea. It was a
wonderful morning.

About two hundred yards past my cottage the road, which from the village
ran perfectly straight, took a sharp turn inland, leaving the coast
abruptly on account of the greater stretch of marshland beyond. It was
towards this bend that I walked, and curiously enough, with every step I
took some inexplicable sense of nervous excitement grew stronger and
stronger within me. The fresh morning air and the sunlight seemed
powerless to dissipate for a moment the haunting terror of last night.
It was a real face which I had seen pressed against the window, and
where had Ray been when he returned with sand-clogged boots and the
telltale seaweed upon his trousers? And later on, had I dreamed it, or
had there really been a cry? It came back to me with horrible