And he laughed happily to himself, for very joy, at thought of the sweet elusive face in the shadow of the great sun-bonnet.

There was not a face in all Sark to compare with it, nor, for him, in all the world.
But this night, as be stood there pulling slowly at his pipe and thinking of Nance, was one of the black nights.
Later on there would be a remnant of a moon, but as yet the sky above was an ebon vault without a star, and the gulfs at his feet were pits of darkness out of which rose the voices of the sea in solemn rhythmic cadence.
Down in Grande Greve, on his right, the waves rolled in almost without a sound, as though they feared to disturb the darkness.

From the intervening moments he could tell how slowly they crept to their curve.
Their fall was a soft sibilation, a long-drawn sigh.

The ever-restless sea for once seemed falling to sleep.
And then, as he listened into the darkness, a tiny elfish glimmer flickered in the void below, flickered and was gone, and he rubbed his eyes for playing him tricks.

But the next wave broke slowly round the wide curve of the bay in a crescent of lambent flame, and a flood of soft, blue-green fire ran swelling up the beach and then with a sigh drew slowly back, and all was dark again.