Siegmund woke to the muffled firing of guns on the sea. He looked across
at the shaggy grey water in wonder. Then he turned to Helena.

'I suppose,' he said, 'they are saluting the Czar. Poor beggar!' 'I was afraid they would wake you,' she smiled.

They listened again to the hollow, dull sound of salutes from across the
water and the downs.

The day had gone grey. They decided to walk, down below, to the next
bay.

'The tide is coming in,' said Helena.

'But this broad strip of sand hasn't been wet for months. It's as soft
as pepper,' he replied.

They laboured along the shore, beside the black, sinuous line of
shrivelled fucus. The base of the cliff was piled with chalk debris. On
the other side was the level plain of the sea. Hand in hand, alone and
overshadowed by huge cliffs, they toiled on. The waves staggered in, and
fell, overcome at the end of the race.

Siegmund and Helena neared a headland, sheer as the side of a house, its
base weighted with a tremendous white mass of boulders, that the green
sea broke amongst with a hollow sound, followed by a sharp hiss of
withdrawal. The lovers had to cross this desert of white boulders, that
glistened in smooth skins uncannily. But Siegmund saw the waves were
almost at the wall of the headland. Glancing back, he saw the other
headland white-dashed at the base with foam. He and Helena must hurry,
or they would be prisoned on the thin crescent of strand still remaining
between the great wall and the water.