I took a big, heavy shawl and ran out. The clock was striking one as I
was in the Crescent, and there was not a soul in sight. I ran along
the North Terrace, but could see no sign of the white figure which I
expected. At the edge of the West Cliff above the pier I looked across
the harbour to the East Cliff, in the hope or fear, I don't know which,
of seeing Lucy in our favourite seat.
There was a bright full moon, with heavy black, driving clouds, which
threw the whole scene into a fleeting diorama of light and shade as
they sailed across. For a moment or two I could see nothing, as the
shadow of a cloud obscured St. Mary's Church and all around it. Then
as the cloud passed I could see the ruins of the abbey coming into
view, and as the edge of a narrow band of light as sharp as a sword-cut
moved along, the church and churchyard became gradually visible.
Whatever my expectation was, it was not disappointed, for there, on our
favourite seat, the silver light of the moon struck a half-reclining
figure, snowy white. The coming of the cloud was too quick for me to
see much, for shadow shut down on light almost immediately, but it
seemed to me as though something dark stood behind the seat where the
white figure shone, and bent over it. What it was, whether man or
beast, I could not tell.
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