here than in the town. But my nerves were all raw that night, and the
thought of John Moyat with his hearty voice and slap on the shoulder was
unbearable. I set my face homewards.

From the village to my cottage stretched a perfectly straight road, with
dykes on either side. No sooner had I passed the last house, and set my
foot upon the road, than I saw strange things. The marshland, which on
the right reached to the sea, was hung here and there with sheets of
mist driven along the ground like clouds before an April tempest. White
flakes of spray, salt and luminous, were dashed into my face. The sea,
indriven up the creeks, swept the road in many places. The cattle,
trembling with fear, had left the marshland, and were coming, lowing,
along the high path which bordered the dyke. And all the time an
undernote of terror, the thunder of the sea rushing in upon the land,
came like a deep monotonous refrain to the roaring of the wind.

Through it all I battled my way, hatless, soaked to the skin, yet
finding a certain wild pleasure in the storm. By the time I had reached
my little dwelling I was exhausted. My hair and clothes were in wild
disorder, my boots were like pulp upon my feet. My remaining strength
was expended in closing the door. The fire was out, the place struck
cold. I staggered towards the easy chair, but the floor seemed suddenly
to heave beneath my feet. I was conscious of the fact that for two days
I had had little to eat, and that my larder was empty. My limbs were
giving way, a mist was before my eyes, and the roar of the sea seemed to
be in my ears, even in my brain. My hands went out like a blind man's,
and I suppose broke my fall. There was rest at least in the
unconsciousness which came down like a black pall upon my senses.

It could only have been a short time before I opened my eyes. Some one