On arriving in London, Doris found people wildly excited over the destruction of the "Stoshfeld" and "Lemburg." The news had just been published, together with the additional information that the "Heracles" had been engaged with the former hostile vessel, and that after the "Castor" and "Pollux" had sunk the "Lemburg," they had gone in search of their consort and found unmistakable signs that she had been sunk. For the officers and crew of the lost cruiser no hope was now entertained.
It was late in the evening when the girl alighted at the country station of the little Devonshire town. News of the disaster had preceded her. Mr. Greenwood was trying to persuade himself that it was his privilege to be the father of one who had given his life for King and Country, but somehow the attempt was a dismal failure. Mrs. Greenwood was on the verge of collapse and required all the attention that could be given. The horrible uncertainty--the lack of definite evidence--was the hardest for her to bear.
Several days passed. Letters of condolence began to arrive, each missive driving another nail into the coffin of a dead hope. The official notification from the Admiralty of the presumed death of Assistant Paymaster Eric Greenwood, R.N.R., gave the coup de grâce to the long-drawn-out suspense.
On the seventh day after her return Doris felt that she must go for a long ramble. The call of the cliffs was irresistible. Accompanied by her dog, she set out in the direction of Prawle Point, a favourite walk in those long-ago pre-war days.
It was misty when the girl gained the edge of the red cliffs. A sea-fog had held for nearly forty-eight hours. The on-shore wind blew cold and clammy, although spring was well advanced and the trees and hedges were acquiring their new garb of verdure. Some distance away the fog signals from Start Point gave out its mournful wail--one blast of seven seconds every two minutes. It seemed in harmony with the times--a dirge over the ocean grave of many a brave seaman, lost in the service of his country. Doris wandered on till she came within a short distance of the signal station. Here she sat, watching the sullen rollers breaking into masses of foam against the jagged ledges of rock that jut out from the wild Prawle Point.