"There will be no going back to-night," she said. "You must come with me. Set your feet down boldly. If you are afraid, take this."
She handed her a small electric torch.
"It's one of those new-fangled things for making light in the darkness," she remarked. "It's no use to me, for if I could not see I could feel. For us who live here, 'tis but an instinct to find our way, in darkness or in light, across the land where we were born. But if you are nervous, press the knob and you will see."
Jeanne took the torch with a little sigh of relief.
"Go on," she said. "I don't mind so much now I have this."
Nevertheless, as they moved along she found it sufficiently alarming. The top of the bank was but a few feet wide. The west wind, which came roaring down across the great open spaces, with nothing to check or divide its strength, was sometimes strong enough to blow them off their balance. On either side of the dyke was the water, black and silent. Here and there the torch light showed them a fishing-smack or a catboat, high and dry a few hours ago, now floating on the bosom of the full tide. They came to a stile, and Jeanne's courage once more failed her.
"I cannot climb over this," she said. "I shall fall directly I lift up my feet."
Kate turned round with a little laugh of contempt. Jeanne felt herself suddenly lifted in a pair of strong arms. Before she knew where she was she was on the other side. Breathless she followed her guide, who came to a full stop a few yards farther on.
"Turn on your light," Kate ordered. "Look down on the left. There should be a punt there."
Jeanne turned on the torch. A great flat-bottomed boat, shapeless and unwieldy, was just below. Kate stepped lightly down the steep bank, and with one foot on the side of the punt, held out her hand to Jeanne.