He was looking toward the sea in an attitude, alert but easy; he appeared to be affected neither by his isolated position, the gloomy scene or the bitter storm; now and then he turned toward the distant light as if to assure himself it was still there, or moved to shake the snow off his shoulders and hat.
As it grew darker the snow began to cease over the sea, and the heavy sky broke into a patch of gloomy red and crimson; it was possible now to discern the dreary line of shore and sand and the dim form of the dark waves.
The man gazed round him, then made slowly toward the sea. The sodden earth and wide logs impeded him; he trod cautiously, but for all his ease sank now and then to his ankles in mud or half-fell over the broken stones and boulders.
Slowly he made painful progress to the edge of the fen where it dipped in a sudden slope of clay straight onto the beach.
There halting he stared out to sea; the snow and the rising mist of the winter night hid all from him save the line of waves breaking on the wet sand; melancholy and terrible was the perfect loneliness; the watcher drew himself up and looked back at the light, then round again at the ghastly yellow sunset that seemed to be far distant; a mere slash of gloomy color in the mist and gray. Then suddenly he drew back; a little boat was pushing through the waves; he could hear the grind of the keel on the pebbles as it struck on the beach and a man leaped from it into the surf.
The man upon the shore watched him struggling up the beach, saw him turn and wave to his companion as the boat disappeared again into the mist, then advance as rapidly as he was able toward the ridge of the fen.
The sun faded to a mere stain; the mist drifted off the sea mingled with sleet and snow; the man on the beach drew nearer the other, all unconscious that any soul was watching him.
With labor and difficulty he threaded his way onward and up the shelving ledge, the other watching him the while as he drew nearer, nearer. Suddenly they met—face to face—a few yards apart; the new-comer stood motionless with surprise and his hand flew to his sword.
“For which King?” cried the man in waiting. His voice sounded strange and hollow through the damp silence; the new arrival drew a step nearer, searching the strange figure; he was a slight, fair young man and showed a face white and strained.
“Which King?” he repeated, moistening his lips.