distant roar of which was already
in my ears, and the wet wind which blew in my face was salt and
refreshing. It was a little after two in the morning, and the darkness
would have been absolute, but for a watery moon, which every now and
then gave a fitful light. For a mile or more I walked with steady,
unflagging footsteps. Then suddenly I found myself slackening my pace.
I walked slower and slower. At last I stopped.

About fifty yards farther on my left was Braster Grange. It stood a
little way back from the road. Its gardens were enclosed by a thin
storm-bent hedge, just thick enough to be a screen from the road. The
entrance was along a lane which branched off here from the main road,
and led on to the higher marshes, and thence on to the road from Braster
village to Rowchester and my cottage. Straight on, the road which I was
following led into Braster, but the lane to the left round past the
Grange saved me fully half a mile. In an ordinary way I should never
have hesitated for a moment as to my route. I knew every inch of the
lane, and though it was rough walking, there were no creeks or obstacles
of any sort to be reckoned with. And yet, as I neared the corner, I
came to a full stop. As I stood there in the road I felt my heart
beating, I seemed possessed by a curious nerve failure. My breath came
quickly. I felt my heart thumping against my side. I stood still and
listened. Down on the shingles I could hear the sea come thundering in
with a loud increasing roar, dying monotonously away at regular
intervals. I could hear the harsh grinding of the pebbles, the backward
swirl of long waves thrown back from the land. I heard the wind come
booming across the waste lands, rustling and creaking amongst the few
stunted trees in the grounds of Braster Grange. Of slighter sounds
there seemed to be none. The village ahead was dark and silent, the
side of the house fronting the road was black and desolate. It was a
lonely spot, a lonely hour. Yet as I stood there shivering with
nameless apprehensions, I felt absolutely certain that I was confronted
by some hidden danger.

In a moment or two, I am thankful to say, my courage returned. I struck
a match and lit a cigar, one of a handful which Ray had forced upon me.
Then I crossed stealthily to the other side of the road, and felt for
the hedge. I pricked my hands badly, but after feeling about for some
moments I was able to cut for myself a reasonably thick stick. With
t