On the coast of Angleshire the weather in the early days of September had been stormy.  With the south-west wind had come deluges of rain, not a common thing for the time of year on the east coast.  Stephen, whose spirits always rose with high wind, was in a condition of prolonged excitement.  She could not keep still; every day she rode long distances, and found a wonderful satisfaction in facing the strong winds.  Like a true horsewoman she did not mind the wet, and had glorious gallops over the grassy ridge and down the slopes on the farther side, out on the open road or through the endless grass rides amid the pine woods.  
On the Tuesday morning the storm was in full sweep, and Stephen was in wild spirits.  Nothing would do her but to go out on the tower of the castle where she could walk about, and leaning on the crenellated parapet look over all the coast stretching far in front and sweeping away to the left and right.  The prospect so enchanted her, and the fierce sweep of the wind so suited her exalted mood, that she remained there all the morning.  The whole coast was a mass of leaping foam and flying spray, and far away to the horizon white-topped waves rolled endlessly.  That day she did not even ride out, but contented herself with watching the sea and the storm from the tower.  After lunch she went to her tower again; and again after tea.  The storm was now furious.  She made up her mind that after dinner she would ride down and see its happenings close at hand.
 
When she had finished dinner she went to her room to dress for her ride.  The rush and roar of the storm were in her ears, and she was in wild tumultuous spirits.  All her youth seemed to sweep back on her; or perhaps it was that the sickness of the last two years was swept away.  Somewhere deep down in Stephen’s heart, below her intention or even her consciousness, was a desire to be her old self if only for an hour.  And to this end externals were of help.  Without weighing the matter in her mind, and acting entirely on impulse, she told her maid to get the red habit she had not worn for years.  When she was dressed she sent round to have out her white Arab; while it was getting ready she went once more to the tower to see the storm-effect in the darkening twilight.  As she looked, her heart for an instant stood still.  Half-way to the horizon a great ship, ablaze in the bows, was driving through the waves with all her speed.  She was heading towards the little port, beyond which the shallows sent up a moving wall of white spray.
 
Stephen tore down the turret stair, and gave hurried directions to have beds prepared in a number of rooms, fires everywhere, and plenty of provisions.  She also ordered that carriages should be sent at once to the fishing port with clothing and restoratives.  There would, she felt, be need for such help before a time to be measured by minutes should have passed; and as some of her servants were as yet strange to her ways she did not leave anything to chance.  One carriage was to go for the doctor who lived at Lannoy, the village over the hill, whence nothing could be seen of what was happening.  She knew that others within sight or hailing would be already on their way.  Work was afoot, and had she time, or thought of it, she would have chosen a more sedate garb.  But in the excitement no thought of herself came to her.
 
In a few seconds she was in the saddle, tearing at full speed down the road that led to the port.  The wind was blowing so strongly in her face that only in the lulls could she hear the hoof-strokes of the groom’s horse galloping behind her.
 
At first the height of the road allowed her to see the ship and the port towards which she was making.  But presently the road dipped, and the curving of the hill shut both from her sight; it was only when she came close that she could see either again.
 
Now the great ship was close at hand.  The flames had gained terribly, and it was a race for life or death.  There was no time do more than run her aground if life was to be saved at all.  The captain, who in the gaps of the smoke could be seen upon the bridge, knew his work well.  As he came near the shoal he ran a little north, and then turned sharply so as to throw the boat’s head to the south of the shoal.  Thus the wind would drive fire and smoke forward and leave the after part of the vessel free for a time.
 
The shock of her striking the sand was terrific, though the tinkle of the bell borne in on the gale showed that the engines had been slowed down.  The funnels were shaken down, and the masts broke off, falling forward.  A wild shriek from a hundred throats cleft the roaring of wind and wave.  The mast fell, the foremast, with all its cumbering top-hamper on the bridge, which was in an instant blotted out of existence, together with the little band of gallant men who stood on it, true to their last duty.  As the wind took the smoke south a man was seen to climb on the wreck of the mast aft and make fast the end of a great coil of rope which he carried.  He was a huge man with a full dark beard.  Two sailors working with furious haste helped him with the rope.  The waves kept raising the ship a little, each time bumping her on the sand with a shock.  The people on deck held frantically to the wreckage around them.
 
Then the bearded man, stripping to his waist and cutting off his trousers above the knee, fastened an end of the rope round his waist.  The sailors stood ready one behind the other to pay it out.  As a great wave rolled under the ship, he threw himself into the sea.
 
In the meantime the coastguard had fixed Board of Trade rocket-apparatus, and in a few seconds the prolonged roar of a rocket was heard.  It flew straight towards the ship, rising at a high angle so as to fall beyond it.  But the force of the wind took it up as it rose, and the gale increased so that it rose nearly vertically; and in this position the wind threw it south of its objective, and short of it.  Another rocket was got ready at once, and blue lights were burned so that the course of the venturous swimmer might be noted.  He swam strongly; but the great weight of the rope behind kept pulling him back, and the southern trend of the tide current and the force of the wind kept dragging him from the pier.  Within the bar the waves were much less than without; but they were still so unruly that no boat in the harbour—which was not a lifeboat station—could venture out.  Indeed, in the teeth of the storm it would have been a physical impossibility to have driven one seaward.
 
As the gathered crowd saw Stephen approach they made way for her.  She had left her horse with the groom, and despite the drenching spray fought a way against the wind out on the pier.  As in the glare of the blue light, which brought many things into harsh unnatural perspective, she caught sight of the set face of the swimmer rising and falling with the waves, her heart leaped.  This was indeed a man! a brave man; and all the woman in her went out to him.  For him, and to aid him and his work, she would have given everything, done anything; and in her heart, which beat in an ecstasy of anxiety, she prayed with that desperate conviction of hope which comes in such moments of exaltation.
 
But it soon became apparent that no landing could be effected.  The force of the current and the wind were taking the man too far southward for him ever to win a way back.  Then one of coastguards took the lead-topped cane which they use for throwing practice, and, after carefully coiling the line attached it so that it would run free, managed with a desperate effort to fling it far out.  The swimmer, to whom it fell close, fought towards it frantically; and as the cord began to run through the water, managed to grasp it.  A wild cheer rose from the shore and the ship.  A stout line was fastened to the shore end of the cord, and the swimmer drew it out to him.  He bent it on the rope which trailed behind him; then, seeing that he was himself a drag on it, with the knife which he drew from the sheath at the back of his waist, he cut himself free.  One of the coastguards on the pier, helped by a host of willing hands, began drawing the end of the rope on shore.  The swimmer still held the line thrown to him, and several men on the pier began to draw on it.  Unhappily the thin cord broke under the strain, and within a few seconds the swimmer had drifted out of possible help.  Seeing that only wild rocks lay south of the sea-wall, and that on them seas beat furiously, he turned and made out for sea.  In the light beyond the glare he could see vaguely the shore bending away to the west in a deep curve of unbroken white leaping foam.  There was no hope of landing there.  To the south was the headland, perhaps two miles away as the crow flies.  Here was the only chance for him.  If he could round the headland, he might find shelter beyond; or somewhere along the farther shore some opening might present itself.  Whilst the light from the blue fires still reached him he turned and made for the headland.
 
In the meantime on ship and on shore men worked desperately.  Before long the end of the hawser was carried round on the high cliff, and pulled as taut as the force at hand could manage, and made fast.  Soon endless ropes were bringing in passengers and crew as fast as place could be found for them.  It became simply a race for time.  If the fire, working against the wind, did not reach the hawser, and if the ship lasted the furious bumping on the sandbank, which threatened to shake her to pieces each moment, all on board might yet be saved.
 
Stephen’s concern was now for the swimmer alone.  Such a gallant soul should not perish without help, if help could be on this side of heaven.  She asked the harbour-master, an old fisher............