And then it came on to blow.
For two hours it blew strongly. At the time the sun should have
set the wind had increased; in fifteen minutes darkness shut down,
even the white sands lost their outlines, and sea and shore and sky
lay in the grip of a relentless and aggressive power.
Within his cabin, by the leaping light of his gusty fire, North sat
alone. His first curiosity passed, the turmoil without no longer
carried his thought beyond its one converging centre. SHE had come
to him on the wings of the storm, even as she had been borne to him
on the summer fog-cloud. Now and then the wind shook the cabin,
but he heeded it not. He had no fears for its safety; it presented
its low gable to the full fury of the wind that year by year had
piled, and even now was piling, protecting buttresses of sand
against it. With each succeeding gust it seemed to nestle more
closely to its foundations, in the whirl of flying sand that
rattled against its roof and windows. It was nearly midnight when
a sudden thought brought him to his feet.
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