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‘Such a sea is worth having a look at,’ he thought. ‘I’ll have a walk up to the cliffs before I turn in.’

He told his wife it was the spray from the waves being dashed on the rocks, and she knew it must be terrible out at sea.

Walter Jessop could not rest. He felt uneasy, and had an undefinable feeling that some dire catastrophe was about to take place. He sat down and tried to read the evening paper, but nothing in it interested him. His pipe continually went out because he was so deep in thought he failed to draw sufficiently to keep it alight. His wife watched him with anxious eyes. She had seen him like this before when he had been affected by a presentiment of evil. He got up from his chair and restlessly paced about the room.

‘Have a glass of something,’ said his wife. ‘It’s getting on for bedtime.’

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you what it is, lass: I fear there’ll be something awful happen before the night’s over.’

‘It’s the storm makes you feel like that,’ said his wife. ‘This will do you good.’ And she handed him a glass of toddy.