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DRIFT FROM TWO SHORES
huddled together in masses； and then were suddenly exploded in one vast
opaque sheet over the heavens。 The sea became gray； and suddenly
wrinkled and old。 There was a dumb； half…articulate cry in the air；
rather a confusion of many sounds； as of the booming of distant guns； the
clangor of a bell； the trampling of many waves； the creaking of timbers
and soughing of leaves； that sank and fell ere you could yet distinguish
them。 And then it came on to blow。 For two hours it blew strongly。 At
the time the sun should have set the wind had increased； in fifteen minutes
darkness shut down； even the white sands lost their outlines； and sea and
shore and sky lay in the grip of a relentless and aggressive power。
Within his cabin； by the leaping light of his gusty fire； North sat alone。
His first curiosity passed； the turmoil without no longer carried his thought
beyond its one converging centre。 SHE had come to him on the wings of
the storm； even as she had been borne to him on the summer fog…cloud。
Now and then the wind shook the cabin； but he heeded it not。 He had no
fears for its safety； it presented its low gable to the full fury of the wind
that year by year had piled； and even now was piling； protecting buttresses
of sand against it。 With each succeeding gust it seemed to nestle more
closely to its foundations； in the whirl of flying sand that rattled against its
roof and windows。 It was nearly midnight when a sudden thought
brought him to his feet。 What if SHE were exposed to the fury of such a
night as this？ What could he do to help her？ Perhaps even now； as he sat
there idle； sheHark！ was not that a gunNo？ Yes； surely！
He hurriedly unbolted the door； but the strength of the wind and the
impact of drifted sand resisted his efforts。 With a new and feverish
strength possessing him he forced it open wide enough to permit his egress
when the wind caught him as a feather； rolled him over and over； and then；
grappling him again； held him down hard and fast against the drift。
Unharmed； but unable to move； he lay there； hearing the multitudinous
roar of the storm； but unable to distinguish one familiar sound in the
savage medley。 At last he managed to crawl flat on his face to the cabin；
and refastening the door； threw himself upon his bed。
He was awakened from a fitful dream of his Cousin Maria。 She with
a supernatural strength seemed to be holding the door against some unseen；
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unknown power that moaned and strove without； and threw itself in
despairing force against the cabin。 He could see the lithe undulations of
her form as she alternately yielded to its power； and again drew the door
against it； coiling herself around the log…hewn doorpost with a hideous；
snake…like suggestion。 And then a struggle and a heavy blow； which
shook the very foundations of the structure； awoke him。 He leaped to his
feet； and into an inch of water！ By the flickering firelight he could see it
oozing and dripping from the crevices of the logs and broadening into a
pool by the chimney。 A scrap of paper torn from an envelope was
floating idly on its current。 Was it the overflow of the backed…up waters
of the river？ He was not left long in doubt。 Another blow upon the
gable of the house； and a torrent of spray leaped down the chimney；
scattered the embers far and wide； and left him in utter darkness。 Some
of the spray clung to his lips。 It was salt。 The great ocean had beaten
down the river bar and was upon him！
Was there aught to fly to？ No！ The cabin stood upon the highest
point of the sand spit； and the low swale on one side crossed by his late
visitors was a seething mass of breakers； while the estuary behind him was
now the ocean itself。 There was nothing to do but to wait。
The very helplessness of his situation was； to a man of his peculiar
temperament； an element of patient strength。 The instinct of self…
preservation was still strong in him； but he had no fear of death； nor；
indeed； any presentiment of it； yet if it came； it was an easy solution of the
problem that had been troubling him； and it wiped off the slate！ He
thought of the sarcastic prediction of his cousin； and death in the form that
threatened him was the obliteration of his home and even the ground upon
which it stood。 There would be nothing to record； no stain could come
upon the living。 The instinct that kept him true to HER would tell her
how he died； if it did not； it was equally well。 And with this simple
fatalism his only belief； this strange man groped his way to his bed； lay
down； and in a few moments was asleep。 The storm still roared without。
Once again the surges leaped against the cabin； but it was evident that the
wind was abating with the tide。
When he awoke it was high noon； and the sun was shining brightly。
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For some time he lay in a delicious languor； doubting if he was alive or
dead； but feeling through every nerve and fibre an exquisite sense of
peacea rest he had not known since his boyhooda relief he scarcely
knew from what。 He felt that he was smiling； and yet his pillow was wet
with the tears that glittered still on his lashes。 The sand blocking up his
doorway； he leaped lightly from his window。 A few clouds were still
sailing slowly in the heavens； the trailing plumes of a great benediction
that lay on sea and shore。 He scarcely recognized the familiar landscape；
a new bar had been formed in the river； and a narrow causeway of sand
that crossed the lagoon and marshes to the river bank and the upland trail
seemed to bring him nearer to humanity again。 He was conscious of a
fresh； childlike delight in all this； and when； a moment later； he saw the
old uprooted tree； now apparently forever moored and imbedded in the
sand beside his cabin； he ran to it with a sense of joy。
Its trailing roots were festooned with clinging sea…weed and the long；
snaky； undulating stems of the sea…turnip； and fixed between two crossing
roots was a bamboo orange crate； almost intact。 As he walked toward it
he heard a strange cry； unlike anything the barren sands had borne before。
Thinking it might be some strange sea bird caught in the meshes of the
sea…weed； he ran to the crate and looked within。 It was half filled with
sea…moss and feathery algae。 The cry was repeated。 He brushed aside
the weeds with his hands。 It was not a wounded sea bird； but a living
human child！
As he lifted it from its damp enwrappings he saw that it was an infant
eight or nine months old。 How and when it had been brought there； or
what force had guided that elfish cradle to his very door； he could not
determine； but it must have been left early； for it was quite warm； and its
clothing almost dried by the blazing morning sun。 To wrap his coat
about it； to run to his cabin with it； to start out again with the appalling
conviction that nothing could be done for it there； occupied some moments。
His nearest neighbor was Trinidad Joe； a 〃logger；〃 three miles up the river。
He remembered to have heard vaguely that he was a man of family。 To
half strangle the child with a few drops from his whisky flask； to extricate
his canoe from the marsh； and strike out into the river with his waif； was at
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least to do something。 In half an hour he had reached the straggling
cabin and sheds of