A second legend bears him to the sea-shore. There tumbles in a strong tide, boiling at the base of dizzy cliffs. It rains and blows. A reef of rocks, black and rough, stretches far into the sea. All along, and among, and above these crags dash and flash, sweep and leap, swells, wreaths, drifts of snowy spray. Some lone wanderer is out on these rocks, treading with cautious step the wet, wild seaweed; glancing down into hollows where the brine lies fathoms deep and emerald clear, and seeing there wilder and stranger and huger vegetation than is found on land, with treasure of shells--some green, some purple, some pearly--clustered in the curls of the snaky plants. He hears a cry. Looking up and forward, he sees, at the bleak point of the reef, a tall, pale thing--shaped like man, but made of spray--transparent, tremulous, awful. It stands not alone. They are all human figures that wanton in the rocks--a crowd of foam-women--a band of white, evanescent Nereids.

A second legend bears him to the sea-shore. There tumbles in a strong tide, boiling at the base of dizzy cliffs. Black rocks stretch far into the sea, wreathed in spray. Some lone wanderer is out on these rocks, treading cautiously. He hears a cry. Looking up he sees, at the point of the reef, a tall, pale thing - human-shaped but made of spray - transparent, tremulous, awful.
