there was no more to do that night, although some of the crew remained always on the dune until day, dawning, showed no trace of a vessel, but only traces of where a vessel had been, pieces of wreckage floating about. the wind had gone down; the sea was still high but would soon begin to lessen in violence. already snow was commencing to fall. it fell all day, mantling the dunes, covering all the external marks of the night’s horrors, a great winding sheet laid upon the trampled ground. only where it struck the black and restless sea did the white blanket fail to disguise what had taken place—that which would take place again and again, from generation to generation, as long as the sea rolled and men sailed.

but even the snow did not go on falling, stopping at dusk, and the next day it was fair. the sun shone and the air was warm—the weather might have been that of late spring. and on the day following it was equally warm and pleasant; and this was christmas.

richard hand remained with the vantons for two weeks after christmas. at length mary vanton decided to close the beach house and spend the rest of[295] the winter in blue port. richard hand saw her settled there and then, with her reluctant assent, took john back to school.

he had postponed his own work, let it drop, let it wait, let it go! work could not matter just then.

but after he had left john at school he returned to new york and pitched in as hard as he could. it was some time before he could get away to run down to blue port, but at last he managed it.

mary vanton met him at the little station, smiling. all the way to the house he was conscious of nothing but her presence beside him. when they stood together in the house, alone, facing each other, something dynamic swept over him. he could hardly see, and tears sprang to his eyes. he felt himself suffocating, drowning in a sea of feeling. the mermaid of immortal youth who lived on in mary vanton was folded in his eager arms.