But, although he seldom exercised it, Morris was a man of strong will, and while any strength was left he refused to give way.

Would this dreadful darkness never end?
For the fiftieth time he glanced back over his shoulder, and now, he was sure of it, the east grew ashen.

He waited awhile, for the November dawn is slow in breaking, then looked again.

Heaven be thanked! the cold wind had driven away the clouds, and there, upon the edge of the horizon, peeped up the fiery circle of the sun, throwing long rays of sickly yellow across the grey, troubled surface of the waters.

In front of him lay a dense bank of fog, which, from its character, as Morris knew well, must emanate from the reeking face of earth.