The sight brought the lad back to earth.
How would it all end? Were these few bearskinn'd trespassers only the spray of seas to follow?
In a little while would England be flooded with them? Aghast, he peered seaward: and seemed to behold a black tide of men sweeping across the moon-drift. They deluged England. The fringe of them lapped about his own northern home. A man in a tree was shooting at Gwen running for her life, her hair behind her, screaming, "Kit!"
Something fell on the floor with a sharp tap, and stopped the shriek on the verge of his lips.
What was it?
Another tap. Something was bobbing briskly across the floor. He picked it up. It was a pebble, and must have come through the window.
Cocking his pistol, he rose.
"Down't shoot," said a low voice.