"What will you do?" asked Gilbert. "Come with me?"
"I don't want to go to the cove--but I'll go over the
channel with you, and roam about on the sand shore till
you come back. The rock shore is too slippery and grim
tonight."
Alone on the sands of the bar Anne gave herself up to
the eerie charm of the night. It was warm for
September, and the late afternoon had been very foggy;
but a full moon had in part lessened the fog and
transformed the harbor and the gulf and the surrounding
shores into a strange, fantastic, unreal world of pale
silver mist, through which everything loomed
phantom-like. Captain Josiah Crawford's black
schooner sailing down the channel, laden with potatoes
for Bluenose ports, was a spectral ship bound for a far
uncharted land, ever receding, never to be reached.
The calls of unseen gulls overhead were the cries of
the souls of doomed seamen. The little curls of foam
that blew across the sand were elfin things stealing up
from the sea-caves. The big, round-shouldered
sand-dunes were the sleeping giants of some old
northern tale.
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