thunder upon the pebbled beach. She leaned a little more forward,
carried away with her fancy--that the shrill grinding of the pebbles
was indeed the scream of human voices in pain!




CHAPTER VI


With the coming of dawn the storm passed away northwards, across a
sea snow-flecked and still panting with its fury, and leaving behind
many traces of its violence, even upon these waste and empty places.
A lurid sunrise gave little promise of better weather, but by six
o'clock the wind had fallen, and the full tide was swelling the
creeks. On a sand-bank, far down amongst the marshes, Jeanne stood
hatless, with her hair streaming in the breeze, her face turned
seaward, her eyes full of an unexpected joy. Everywhere she saw
traces of the havoc wrought in the night. The tall rushes lay broken
and prostrate upon the ground; the beach was strewn with timber from
the breaking up of an ancient wreck. Eyes more accustomed than hers
to the outline of the country could have seen inland dismantled
cottages and unroofed sheds, groups of still frightened and restive
cattle, a snapped flagstaff, a fallen tree. But Jeanne knew none of
these things. Her face was turned towards the ocean and the rising
sun. She felt the sting of the sea wind upon her cheeks, all the
nameless exhilaration of the early morning sweetness. Far out
seaward the long breakers, snow-flecked and white crested, came
rolling in with a long, monotonous murmur toward the land. Above,
the grey sky was changing into blue. Almost directly over her head,