A. T. Quiller-Couch

“ The man bowed his face again upon the turf. Taffy, upright on both knees, heard him sobbing like a child in the roaring darkness.
"Come," he coaxed, and putting out a hand, touched his wet hair. "Come." They crept forward again, but still as he followed the sailor cried for his drowned brother, up the long slope to the ridge of the headland, where, with the light-house and warm cottage windows in view, all speech and hearing were drowned by stinging hail and the blown grit of the causeway.
Humility opened the door to them.
"Taffy! Where have you been?" ”

“ He helped the poor wretch to a chair.
"Bandages: can you manage?" She nodded, and stepped to a cupboard. The sailor began to wail again like an infant.
"See—above the temple here: the cut isn't serious." Taffy took down a lantern and lit it. The candle shone red through the smears his fingers left on the horn panes. "I must go and help, if you can manage."
"I can manage," she answered quietly.
He strode out, and closing the door behind him with an effort, faced the gale again. Down in the lee of the light-house the lamps of the coast-guard carriage gleamed foggily through the rain. ”

“ And at that instant, in a lull between two gusts, his ear caught the sound of splashing, yet a sound so unlike the lapping of the driven tide that he peered over and down between the tamarisk boughs.
"Hullo there!"
"Hullo!" a voice answered. "Is that someone alive? ”