Elba lay more sheltered from South-east winds under the slopes of down than any other house in Crikswich.  The South-caster struck off the cliff to a martello tower and the house on the beach, leaving Elba to repose, so that the worst wind for that coast was one of the most comfortable for the owner of the hall, and he looked from his upper window on a sea of crumbling grey chalk, lashed unremittingly by the featureless piping gale, without fear that his elevated grounds and walls would be open at high tide to the ravage of water.  Van Diemen had no idea of calamity being at work on land when he sat down to breakfast.  He told Herbert that he had prayed for poor fellows at sea last night.  Mary Fellingham and Annette were anxious to finish breakfast and mount the down to gaze on the sea, and receiving a caution from Van Diemen not to go too near the cliff, they were inclined to think he was needlessly timorous on their account.

Before they were half way through the meal, word was brought in of great breaches in the shingle, and water covering the common.  Van Diemen sent for his head gardener, whose report of the state of things outside took the comprehensive form of prophecy; he predicted the fall of the town.

“Nonsense; what do you mean, John Scott?” said Van Diemen, eyeing his orderly breakfast table and the man in turns.  “It does n’t seem like that, yet, does it?”

“The house on the beach won’t stand an hour longer, sir.”

“Who says so?”

“It’s cut off from land now, and waves mast-high all about it.”

“Mart Tinman?” cried Van Diemen.

All started; all jumped up; and there was a scampering for hats and cloaks.  Maids and men of the house ran in and out confirming the news of inundation.  Some in terror for the fate of relatives, others pleasantly excited, glad of catastrophe if it but killed monotony, for at any rate it was a change of demons.

The view from the outer bank of Elba was of water covering the space of the common up to the stones of Marine Parade and Belle Vue.  But at a distance it had not the appearance of angry water; the ladies thought it picturesque, and the house on the beach was seen standing firm.  A second look showed the house completely isolated; and as the party led by Van Diemen circled hurriedly toward the town, they discerned heavy cataracts of foam pouring down the wrecked mound of shingle on either side of the house.

“Why, the outer wall’s washed away,” said Van Diemen.  “Are they in real danger?” asked Annette, her teeth chattering, and the cold and other matters at her heart precluding for the moment such warmth of sympathy as she hoped soon to feel for them.  She was glad to hear her father say: 

“Oh! they’re high and dry by this time.  We shall find them in the town And we’ll take them in and comfort them.  Ten to one they have n’t breakfasted.  They sha’n’t go to an inn while I’m handy.”