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Oxenham, John, 1852-1941

"A Maid of the Silver Sea"


He picked up his gun, listened anxiously for sound of him, and then
crept cautiously out, with a quick glance along each slope.
Nothing!--nothing but the cheerful sun and the cloudless sky, and the
empty blue plain of the sea, and the birds circling and diving and
squabbling as usual--and Nance's little parcel lying where she had
dropped it. He had had other things to think about last night.
The composure of the birds reassured him somewhat. Still, they might
have landed on the other side of the rock and be lying in wait for him.
He picked up Nance's parcel with a feeling of reverence. It might have
cost her her life, in spite of her bladders. Then he climbed cautiously
to the ridge and peered over.
Sark lay basking in the sunshine, peaceful and placid, as if no son of
hers had ever had an ill thought of his neighbour, much less sought his
blood.
Not a boat was in sight, and the birds on the north slope seemed as
undisturbed as their fellows on the south.
The invasion in force needed time perhaps to prepare and would be all
the more conclusive when completed.


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