Valerie was pale and quiet when she appeared at the breakfast-table. The heat oppressed her, she said, and she had a headache. It was generally agreed that the extraordinary change in the weather must have come at about three o’clock that morning, for the rector remembered having woken at about that hour, throwing some of the coverings from off his bed.
When the meal was over they all went out on to the cliffs in front of the house. A dense haze, of the same hue as the sky, hung over the sea. They could just make out the water at the foot of the cliffs, and it appeared to be dead calm, but farther out the mist was impenetrable, and the island was hidden from their anxious eyes. Full of hope, Tony led the way down to the harbour.
Here they found an extraordinary state of affairs. Every able-bodied member of the village’s small population seemed to be on the waterfront. They were standing about in groups, talking excitedly and pointing out to sea. The mist was thickening rapidly, pouring in through the harbour mouth in great clouds.
Who first observed the little party from the rectory it was impossible to say, but it was only a matter of seconds before everyone knew of their presence. The talking ceased abruptly and scores of pairs of eyes were turned towards them.
The rector spoke sharply, asking the nearest what the matter was, but they only shuffled their feet, avoiding his gaze. From the back of the crowd a sudden muttering sprang up, to be instantly silenced as the old man turned his eyes in that direction. Spying one of his own servers, he made for him, the people falling back to let him through.
Taking the boy by the arm, he spoke to him. The other hesitated for a moment then burst into voluble speech, flinging his arm seawards. His tones were too low for Hamilton and his companions to hear what he said, and Valerie moved closer to Tony, catching his hand.
“What does it mean?” she whispered anxiously.
Tony shook his head.
“We shall soon know,” he answered, for the rector was returning, his face grave.
“Come,” he said when he reached them, “we can’t talk here.”
They turned back towards the rectory, and as soon as they were out of earshot of the crowd he told them what he had learned.
“It seems that just before sunrise this morning two of the men went down to the quay to find out how rough the sea was. To their surprise, a dead calm had fallen, and they were just going back to their homes when one of them noticed the Abbey, just visible in the dawn. It sounds incredible, I know, but they swear that a heavy mist was pouring from the battlements and spreading over the sea about the island. They thought at first that the place was on fire, and that it was smoke they saw, but no flames appeared, and the mist went on spreading. Soon the island was hidden, and now it has reached the land, though it doesn’t seem to come any further. It’s getting thicker on the water every minute.”
Tony, white to the lips, uttered one word:
“Gaunt!”
“That’s what the people think,” continued the rector. “They know that your two former friends are still on Kestrel and they are convinced that they are working witchcraft. I expect Tregellis has been talking.”
“They’re probably quite right,” Tony groaned. “He couldn’t keep the storm up any longer, so now he has hidden the island in a fog. I couldn’t find it now, no matter how I tried.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt it’s still there;” the rector made a valiant attempt to be cheerful. “Don’t let us rate his power too high. But the tide-race is far too treacherous to navigate blind. You would be hopelessly lost.”
No one said anything further — there seemed to be nothing to say. This last demonstration of Gaunt’s power — for it was impossible to regard it as anything else — had swept away the last shred of scepticism from the minds of them all.
They climbed slowly back towards the rectory, Valerie clinging to Tony’s arm, and Hamilton, with the rector, a few paces behind. The scene was indescribably weird. There was the rectory, with the church behind, and the brow of the hill beyond, all clear in the ruddy light. On the other side of the path, a few yards of grass extended to the edge of the cliff, and beyond that there was nothing but an impenetrable wall of copper-coloured fog, rising sheer to the sky above, where it merged into the thin haze veiling the sun.
Hamilton climbed over the wire fence and walked perilously close to the brink, thrusting out his arm. His hand and wrist were hidden in the dense vapour.
“It feels hot,” he reported when he rejoined them, “and smells rather peculiar. Something like the smoke from a slag-heap.”
They went indoors and discussed the problem until lunch-time without arriving at any conclusion. The most fantastic methods of reaching the island were suggested, from aeroplane to submarine, but all were rejected as valueless. The rector spent some time in church, but when he came back they could see at once that he had had no sign.
All that day the heat grew stronger, until by evening the men had discarded their jackets, and were stretched out in deck-chairs on the lawn, their shirt-collars loosened, moving as little as possible. The very idea of food was nauseating, but Valerie, wearing a brief tennis frock, brought cooling drinks, and they all sat together talking, talking interminably.
The fog over the sea had not changed at all, and hung in a great curtain for miles along the coast. Not a breath of air stirred; all animal life was hushed, and a deathly silence lay upon the sweltering land.
Although the day had been dull the night was unusually light, for a queer reddish glow appeared to emanate from the fog-bank and from the veiled sky. They tried desperately to behave naturally, but each knew that the world stood on the brink of some terrible cataclysm. They went to bed at the usual hour, but no one closed his eyes during the long watches of that awful night.
Hamilton, lying practically naked on top of the bed-clothes, his body damp with sweat, stared into the crimson gloom, thinking of Faustus’ last words.
“Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven, that time may cease, and midday never come!” he paraphrased. However slowly the hours dragged, they still went far too fast, for every tick of the clock brought nearer that fated moment when death and destruction would be loosed upon mankind.
There was no hope for the world now, unless God intervened, he told himself. He had not intervened to stop the countless wars and famines, earthquakes, plagues and desolations of the past. Would He come now, in all His might and majesty, to save His children from the final victory of the Adversary? Desperately Hamilton tried to believe that He would. He clenched his teeth, praying fiercely, savagely almost.
At last, unable to bear the inaction any longer, he got up and poured the contents of his wash-stand jug over his head. The water was lukewarm and unrefreshing. He dried himself, slipped on some clothes, and went quietly downstairs and out into the garden.
The light from the glowing sky was almost as strong as that of a full moon, and he walked up and down for a while, smoking his pipe. The air was stale and flat, burning the lungs.
Presently he knocked out his pipe and went into the church, the door of which he found unlocked.
Inside it was very dark, but he groped his way to a seat and sank down gratefully. It seemed a little cooler here, and not so difficult to breathe. A solitary white flame flickered before the Tabernacle, giving little illumination but shining brightly on the silver crucifix behind. He fixed his eyes upon this eternal symbol of hope and in a little while fell asleep.