It was into this place of safety that Josephine had crept when she had disappeared from his view before he could mount the cliff to see whither she went.

She had often stood where he now stood, half afraid, half audacious, in that curious dress of hers, before she summoned up courage to slip into the sea for daylight or moonlight wanderings.
He turned round to hear the gaunt woman beside him again talking excitedly.

Upon a bit of rusty iron that still held its place on the wall hung what he had taken to be a heap of sacking.

She took this down now and displayed it with a cunning look.
"I made it myself," she said, "it holds one up wonderful in the water; but now I've been a-dying so long the buoys have burst." Caius pityingly took the garment from her.

Her mad grief, and another woman's madcap pleasure, made it a sacred thing.