“And then it will be over,” she murmured—­“over.”

It never came into her head to watch the girls as they disappeared down the lane on their way to church.  She knew them too well to distrust their doing what they were told.  She sat still, her head bowed on her arms for a few minutes, and then rose up and went to put on her walking things.  Some thoughts impelled her to sudden haste.  She crossed the field by the side of the house, ran down the steep and rocky path, and was carried by the impetus of her descent far out on the level sands—­but not far enough for her intent.  Without looking to the right hand or to the left, where comers might be seen, she went forwards to the black posts, which, rising above the heaving waters, marked where the fishermen’s nets were laid.  She went straight towards this place, and hardly stinted her pace even where the wet sands were glittering with the receding waves.  Once there, she turned round, and, in a darting glance, saw that as yet no one was near.  She was perhaps half-a-mile or more from the grey, silvery rocks, which sloped away into brown moorland, interspersed with a field here and there of golden, waving corn.  Behind were purple hills, with sharp, clear outlines, touching the sky.  A little on one side from where she stood she saw the white cottages and houses which formed the village of Abermouth, scattered up and down; and, on a windy hill, about a mile inland, she saw the little grey church, where even now many were worshipping in peace.

“Pray for me!” she sighed out as this object caught her eye.

And now, close under the heathery fields, where they fell softly down and touched the sands, she saw a figure moving in the direction of the great shadow made by the rocks—­going towards the very point where the path from Eagle’s Crag came down to the shore.

“It is he!” said she to herself.  And she turned round and looked seaward.  The tide had turned; the waves were slowly receding, as if loth to lose the hold they had, so lately, and with such swift bounds, gained on the yellow sands.  The eternal moan they have made since the world began filled the ear, broken only by the skirl of the grey sea-birds as they alighted in groups on the edge of the waters, or as they rose up with their measured, balancing motion, and the sunlight caught their white breasts.  There was no sign of human life to be seen; no boat, or distant sail, or near shrimper.  The black posts there were all that spoke of men’s work or labour.  Beyond a stretch of the waters, a few pale grey hills showed like films; their summits clear, though faint, their bases lost in a vapoury mist.

On the hard, echoing sands, and distinct from the ceaseless murmur of the salt sea waves, came footsteps—­nearer—­nearer.  Very near they were when Ruth, unwilling to show the fear that rioted in her heart, turned round, and faced Mr. Donne.

He came forward, with both hands extended.