suddenly. "There's something in that wind and in the hoast beyont that
sounds, and looks, and tastes, and smells like death. It's in the air. I feel
it comin'. Lord, make me answer cheerful, when my call comes!" He held up
his arms devoutly, and raised his hat. His mouth moved as though he were
praying. After a few minutes' silence, he got up, shook hands with me, and
blessed me, and said good-bye, and hobbled off. It all touched me, and upset me
very much.
I was glad when the coastguard came along, with his spyglass under his arm.
He stopped to talk with me, as he always does, but all the time kept looking at
a strange ship.
"I can't make her out," he said. "She's a Russian, by the
look of her. But she's knocking about in the queerest way. She doesn't know her
mind a bit. She seems to see the storm coming, but can't decide whether to run
up north in the open, or to put in here. Look there again! She is steered
mighty strangely, for she doesn't mind the hand on the wheel, changes about
with every puff of wind. We'll hear more of her before this time
tomorrow."

CUTTING FROM "THE DAILYGRAPH," 8 AUGUST
(PASTED IN MINA MURRAY'S JOURNAL)
From a correspondent.
Whitby.
One of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just
been experienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather had
been somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the month of August.
Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known, and the great body of
holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave