Step by step I followed the prints; until, a quarter of a mile farther, I beheld them die away into the southeastern boundary of Graden Floe.  There, whoever he was, the miserable man had perished.  One or two gulls, who had, perhaps, seen him disappear, wheeled over his sepulcher with their usual melancholy piping.  The sun had broken through the clouds by a last effort, and colored the wide level of quicksands with a dusky purple.  I stood for some time gazing at the spot, chilled and disheartened by my own reflections, and with a strong and commanding consciousness of death.  I remember wondering how long the tragedy had taken, and whether his screams had been audible at the pavilion.  And then, making a strong resolution, I was about to tear myself away, when a gust fiercer than usual fell upon this quarter of the beach, and I saw, now whirling high in air, now skimming lightly across the surface of the sands, a soft, black, felt hat, somewhat conical in shape, such as I had remarked already on the heads of the Italians.

I believe, but I am not sure, that I uttered a cry.  The wind was driving the hat shoreward, and I ran round the border of the floe to be ready against its arrival.  The gust fell, dropping the hat for awhile upon the quicksand, and then, once more freshening, landed it a few yards from where I stood.  I seized it with the interest you may imagine.  It had seen some service; indeed, it was rustier than either of those I had seen that day upon the street.  The lining was red, stamped with the name of the maker, which I have forgotten, and that of the place of manufacture, Venedig.  This (it is not yet forgotten) was the name given by the Austrians to the beautiful city of Venice, then, and for long after, a part of their dominions.

The shock was complete.  I saw imaginary Italians upon every side; and for the first, and, I may say, for the last time in my experience, became overpowered by what is called a panic terror.  I knew nothing, that is, to be afraid of, and yet I admit that I was heartily afraid; and it was with sensible reluctance that I returned to my exposed and solitary camp in the Sea-Wood.

There I eat some cold porridge which had been left over from the night before, for I was disinclined to make a fire; and, feeling strengthened and reassured, dismissed all these fanciful terrors from my mind, and lay down to sleep with composure.

How long I may have slept it is impossible for me to guess; but I was awakened at last by a sudden, blinding flash of light into my face.  It woke me like a blow.  In an instant I was upon my knees.  But the light had gone as suddenly as it came.  The darkness was intense.  And, as it was blowing great guns from the sea, and pouring with rain, the noises of the storm effectually concealed all others.