'You don't need to worry, child,' he assured her. 'Russia isn't going to cave in yet awhile.'
'Not in any ordinary fashion,' she replied, 'but one lives in dread of some terrible disaster, and then—— These terms, they say, are to be left over for a month. Think of the temptation—all the fruits of victory offered in the very blackest moment of despair. Look!'
She pointed to the mouth of the river. The white-sailed boat was already commencing the passage of the estuary.
'Come,' she exclaimed, 'we must get back.'
They hurried across the marsh, finding their way with more difficulty now owing to the inward sweep of the tide, filling the narrow places with the soft swirl of salt-water. When they reached the raised path by the side of the estuary, the sailing boat was almost by their side. A man was seated in the stern, muffled up in an overcoat and wearing a tweed cap.
'There he is,' she murmured.
Lavendale glanced at the man in a puzzled fashion. Just at that moment the latter turned his head. He was dark, clean-shaven, and slightly built.
'Something rather familiar about him,' Lavendale muttered. 'You don't know his name?'
She shook her head.
'Wait,' she begged.