Down below--far down--she could see a slender figure, with long hair blowing in the blast, lying awfully still on the sands.

Not five feet off the great waves washed, rising, steadily rising.

In five minutes more they would wash the feet of the terrace--that slender figure would lie there no more.
"The fall alone would have killed her.

Before I am half-way back to the house those waves will be her shroud." She wrapped her cloak around her and fled away--back, swift as the wind, into the house, up the stairs.

Safe in her own room, she tore off her disguise.