Yes, it was there! The cry of last night rang again in my ears with all its supreme agony as I stood in the presence of this silent witness of the dead--this rag of clothing that told so terrible a history.
Child as I was, the silent terror of it made me faint and giddy.
I shut my eyes again, and clung, all trembling, to the ledge.
Not for untold bribes could I have gone down and touched that terrible thing, but, as soon as the first spasm of fear was over, I clambered desperately back and on to the sands again, as though all the souls of the drowned were pursuing me.
Once safe upon the beach, I recovered my scattered wits a little.
I felt that I could not repass that dreadful rock, so determined to go across the sands to Polkimbra, and homewards around the cliffs.
Still gazing at the sea as one fascinated, I made along the length of the beach.

The storm had thrown up vast quantities of weed, that lined the water's edge in straggling lines and heaps, and every heap in turn chained and riveted my shuddering eyes, that half expected to see in each some new or nameless horror.
I was half across the beach, when suddenly I looked up towards Polkimbra, and saw a man advancing towards me along the edge of the tide.
He was about two hundred yards from me when I first looked.

Heartily glad to see any human being after my great terror, I ran towards him eagerly, thinking to recognise one of my friends among the Polkimbra fishermen.

As I drew nearer, however, without attracting his attention--for the soft sand muffled all sound of footsteps--two things struck me.

The first was that I had never seen a fisherman dressed as this man was; the second, that he seemed to watch the sea with an absorbed and eager gaze, as if expecting to find or see something in the breakers.