I saw at once, by the size and coarseness of the impression, that

it was a stranger to me and to those in the pavilion who had

recently passed that way. Not only so; but from the recklessness

of the course which he had followed, steering near to the most

formidable portions of the sand, he was as evidently a stranger to

the country and to the ill-repute of Graden beach.

Step by step I followed the prints; until, a quarter of a mile

farther, I beheld them die away into the south-eastern boundary of

Graden Floe. There, whoever he was, the miserable man had

perished. One or two gulls, who had, perhaps, seen him disappear,

wheeled over his sepulchre with their usual melancholy piping. The

sun had broken through the clouds by a last effort, and coloured

the wide level of quicksands with a dusky purple. I stood for some

time gazing at the spot, chilled and disheartened by my own

reflections, and with a strong and commanding consciousness of

death. I remember wondering how long the tragedy had taken, and

whether his screams had been audible at the pavilion. And then,

making a strong resolution, I was about to tear myself away, when a

gust fiercer than usual fell upon this quarter of the beach, and I

saw now, whirling high in air, now skimming lightly across the

surface of the sands, a soft, black, felt hat, somewhat conical in

shape, such as I had remarked already on the heads of the Italians.

I believe, but I am not sure, that I uttered a cry. The wind was

driving the hat shoreward, and I ran round the border of the floe

to be ready against its arrival. The gust fell, dropping the hat

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