Behind were purple hills,
with sharp, clear outlines, touching the sky. A little on one
side from where she stood she saw the white cottages and houses
which formed the village of Abermouth, scattered up and down;
and, on a windy hill, about a mile inland, she saw the little
grey church, where even now many were worshipping in peace.
"Pray for me!" she sighed out as this object caught her eye.
And now, close under the heathery fields, where they fell softly
down and touched the sands, she saw a figure moving in the
direction of the great shadow made by the rocks--going towards
the very point where the path from Eagle's Crag came down to the
shore.
"It is he!" said she to herself. And she turned round and looked
seaward. The tide had turned; the waves were slowly receding, as
if loth to lose the hold they had, so lately, and with such swift
bounds, gained on the yellow sands. The eternal moan they have
made since the world began filled the ear, broken only by the
skirl of the grey sea-birds as they alighted in groups on the
edge of the waters, or as they rose up with their measured,
balancing motion, and the sunlight caught their white breasts.
There was no sign of human life to be seen; no boat, or distant
sail, or near shrimper. The black posts there were all that spoke
of men's work or labour. Beyond a stretch of the waters, a few
pale grey hills showed like films; their summits clear, though
faint, their bases lost in a vapoury mist.
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