“I see it,” I said. “It is yet fast to the rock--as fast as any oyster. But it is bent flat, so that it is no manner of use. It may as well go as stay. The water covers it already, or it would, if it were smooth.” And, indeed, the seas broke no longer over the rock, save an occasional one, higher than the rest, and the trough lower. Such a sea did but open an instant, to show the top, dark brown and barnacled, then closed again, roaring, in a whirlpool of foam. And Eve said nothing, but only looked. And as we stood looking, and the rain running off from our clothes in streams, Old Goodwin came down to us, in oilskins and boots and sou’wester. And he said nothing, either, which was not strange, for he was not a man of words. And when he had been there some while, came a mighty sea, and fell upon the rock. I shouted at the sight of that sea; I could do no other. And when it was passed, the water opened once more and there was but the shaft, bent and twisted. “Gone!” I cried. And Eve looked at me with wide eyes, but Old Goodwin only nodded. So we three watched for some while, and at last the water was as smooth over the rock as it was elsewhere. And that is not saying that it was smooth at all--even on my clam beds, where it was, in a measure, sheltered, the waves broke high, so that I feared for the bank; but the great seas raced evenly over the rock, and it was as there was none there, for no man could tell its place. Then, on a sudden, the rain ceased and the wind increased, and it seemed that the whole earth must be torn up by the roots. And up on the hill I heard the crash of a tree, falling, and then another. And the water was level with the bank, and the waves broke over my pebbles. Old Goodwin turned at the sound of the trees, and said something, I know not what. For the noise of the wind and the noise of the water was a great noise, and swallowed up the sound of his voice. And he looked once more out to sea, and there came that into his face that made me to look, too.