The bluff wind that came from the bosom of the sea seemed only to tell of a vast silence and a world asleep.

The rocky shore, with its thin line of white breakers, stretched round to the west.

About a mile away there was a rugged headland, with some crags at its feet, which had been broken off and rolled down into the sea by the Frost Demon of bygone years.

The smallest was farthest out, and wedged behind it and sheltered by it was the black hulk of a wrecked vessel.

This outermost rock lay so that it broke the waves as they came against the wreck, and each was thrown high in a white jet and curl of spray, and fell with a low sob back into the darkness of the sea.
The curate turned and walked toward the headland on the cliff path where he had walked a week before with Violetta.