call yet!  He was calling after her to stop.  Never! . . .  She tore through the night, past the startled group of seaweed-gatherers who stood round their lantern paralysed with fear at the unearthly screech coming from that fleeing shadow.  The men leaned on their pitchforks staring fearfully.  A woman fell on her knees, and, crossing herself, began to pray aloud.  A little girl with her ragged skirt full of slimy seaweed began to sob despairingly, lugging her soaked burden close to the man who carried the light.  Somebody said:  “The thing ran out towards the sea.”  Another voice exclaimed:  “And the sea is coming back!  Look at the spreading puddles.  Do you hear—­you woman—­there!  Get up!” Several voices cried together.  “Yes, let us be off!  Let the accursed thing go to the sea!” They moved on, keeping close round the light.  Suddenly a man swore loudly.  He would go and see what was the matter.  It had been a woman’s voice.  He would go.  There were shrill protests from women—­but his high form detached itself from the group and went off running.  They sent an unanimous call of scared voices after him.  A word, insulting and mocking, came back, thrown at them through the darkness.  A woman moaned.  An old man said gravely:  “Such things ought to be left alone.”  They went on slower, shuffling in the yielding sand and whispering to one another that Millot feared nothing, having no religion, but that it would end badly some day.

Susan met the incoming tide by the Raven islet and stopped, panting, with her feet in the water.  She heard the murmur and felt the cold caress of the sea, and, calmer now, could see the sombre and confused mass of the Raven on one side and on the other the long white streak of Molene sands that are left high above the dry bottom of Fougere Bay at every ebb.  She turned round and saw far away, along the starred background of the sky, the ragged outline of the coast.  Above it, nearly facing her, appeared the tower of Ploumar Church; a slender and tall pyramid shooting up dark and pointed into the clustered glitter of the stars.  She felt strangely calm.  She knew where she was, and began to remember how she came there—­and why.  She peered into the smooth obscurity near her.  She was alone.  There was nothing there; nothing near her, either living or dead.

The tide was creeping in quietly, putting out long impatient arms of strange rivulets that ran towards the land between ridges of sand.  Under the night the pools grew bigger with mysterious rapidity, while the great sea, yet far off, thundered in a regular rhythm along the indistinct line of the horizon.  Susan splashed her way back for a few yards without being able to get clear of the water that murmured tenderly all around and, suddenly, with a spiteful gurgle, nearly took her off her feet.  Her heart thumped with fear.  This place was too big and too empty to die in.  To-morrow they would do with her what they liked.  But before she died she