In this year of our story, about the middle of November, the weather set in very mild and misty.

It was the third of these "roky" nights, and the sea-fog poured along the land like vapour from an opened jar of chemicals.
Morris was experimenting at the forge in his workshop very late--or, rather early, for it was near to two o'clock in the morning--when of a sudden through the open window, rising from the quiet sea beneath, he heard the rattle of oars in rowlocks.

Wondering what a boat could be doing so near inshore at a season when there was no night fishing, he went to the window to listen.

Presently he caught the sound of voices shouting in a tongue with which he was unacquainted, followed by another sound, that of a boat being beached upon the shingle immediately below the Abbey.

Now guessing that something unusual must have happened, Morris took his hat and coat, and, unlocking the Abbot's door, lit a lantern, and descended the cement steps to the beach.