The path was narrow and they walked in single file, but at the bend he drew level with her, walking on the seaward side and guiding her with his fingers upon her arm.

Presently they reached the little circular space where rustic seats had been placed, and leaned over a grey stone wall.
There was nothing of the midsummer charm about the scene to-night.
Sheer below them the sea, driven by tide and wind, rushed upon the huge masses of rock or beat direct upon the cave-indented cliffs.

The spray leapt high into the air, to be caught up by the wind in whirlpools, little ghostly flecks, luminous one moment and gone forever the next.
Far away across the pitchy waters they could see at regular intervals a line of white where the breakers came rushing in, here and there the agitated lights of passing steamers; opposite, the twin flares on the Welsh coast, and every sixty seconds the swinging white illumination from the Lynmouth Lighthouse, shining up from behind the headland.

Jane slipped one hand through his arm and stood there, breathless, rapturously watchful.

"This is wonderful," she murmured.