It was all very strange and very awesome, and he wondered what it might
portend in the way of further marvels.
And he had not long to wait.
Far away in the Atlantic a cyclone had been raging, and carrying havoc
in its skirts. Now it was whirling towards Europe, and the puffins crept
deep into their holes, and the gulls circled with disconsolate cries,
and the cormorants crouched gloomily in lee of their snuggest ledges,
and all nature seemed waiting for the blow.
Gard was awakened in the morning by the gale tearing at the massive
stones of his shelter as though it would carry them bodily into the sea.
And when he crawled out, flat like a worm, the wind caught him even so,
and he had to grimp to earth and anchor himself by projecting pieces of
rock.
Such seas as these he had never imagined round Sark; forgetting that
behind Guernsey lay thousands of miles of waters tortured past
endurance and racing now to escape the fury of the storm.
A white lash of spray came over him as he lay, and soaked him to the
skin, and, turning his face to the storm, he saw through the chinks of
his eyes a great wavering white curtain between him and the sky line.
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