The tide has crept almost to the foot of the ancient sea wall, and gently rocking on it lies a wondrously beautiful boat with red and white sail set, but with no man, or aught living beyond the white terns which hover and swoop about it, to be seen.
"'Tis a foreign boat," says the thane.

"Our folk cannot frame such an one as this.

Doubtless she has broken her line from astern of some ship last night, and so has been wafted hither." "Men do not tow a boat with her sail set," laughs the king.

"Let us go and see her." So they ride shoreward across the dunes, and ever the breeze edges the boat nearer and nearer, till at last she is at rest on the edge of the tide, lifting now and then as some little wave runs beneath her sharp stern.

For once the North Sea is still, and even the brown water of the Humber tides is blue across the yellow sands.
The horses come swiftly and noiselessly across the strand, but the white steed of the king is restless as he nears the boat, sniffing the air and tossing his head.