For a moment Philip stared after her in amazement. Then he took a
step as if to follow her, to call her back. The impulse left him
as quickly as it came, and he rejoined Brokaw and the factor.
He looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. At half-past seven
he shook hands with the two men, lighted a fresh cigar, and passed
out into the night. It was early for his meeting with Pierre and
Jeanne, but he went down to the shore and walked slowly in the
direction of the cliff. He was still an hour early when he arrived
at the great rock, and sat down, with his face turned to the sea.
It was a white, radiant night, such as he had seen in the tropics.
Only here, in the north, his vision reached to greater distances.
Churchill lay lifeless in its pool of light; the ship hung like a
black silhouette in the distance, with a cloud of jet-black smoke
rising straight up from its funnels, and spreading out high up
against the sky, a huge, ebon monster that cast its shadow for
half a mile over the Bay. The shadow held Philip's eyes. Now it
was like a gigantic face, now like a monster beast--now it reached
out in the form of a great threatening hand, as though somewhere
in the mystery of the north it sought a spirit-victim as potent as
itself.
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