at it all fall--thought ye knowed it."

Out into the night again, and without a word of
thanks, down the road and across the causeway to
the hard beach, drenched with the ceaseless thrash
of the rising sea. He followed no path, picked out
no road. Stumbling along in the half-gloom of the
twilight, he could make out the heads of the sand-
dunes, bearded with yellow grass blown flat against
their cheeks. Soon he reached the prow of the old
wreck with its shattered timbers and the water-holes
left by the tide. These he avoided, but the smaller
objects he trampled upon and over as he strode on,
without caring where he stepped or how often he
stumbled. Outlined against the sand-hills, bleached
white under the dull light, he looked like some evil
presence bent on mischief, so direct and forceful
was his unceasing, persistent stride.

When the House of Refuge loomed up against
the gray froth of the surf he stopped and drew breath.
Bending forward, he scanned the beach ahead, shading
his eyes with his hand as he would have done on
his own ship in a fog. He could make out now some
streaks of yellow light showing through the cracks
one above the other along the side of the house and
a dull patch of red. He knew what it meant. Bart
and his fellows were inside, and were using one of
the ship lanterns to see by.