Neither girl spoke. Automatically they seized hands and redoubled their efforts. One island after another was left behind, then Edith, looking over her shoulder, saw that the tide was gaining. Its next incoming heave would overtake them.
"We'll have to climb these rocks!" she gasped.
"No!" said Fran, giving her hand a tug. "Keep on. No matter if we do get wet. We must get nearer in. These rocks will be covered."
Edith kept pace. They seemed to have reached a higher ridge of the beach since presently the water, instead of pursuing directly, passed on either side, stretching shorewards.
Too terrified to consider what this would mean when the tongues of water should meet before them, the girls pressed on blindly.
Suddenly there came a shout from shore, now measurably nearer. Down the beach sped a galloping horse, his rider waving to attract their attention.
Fran's quick wits grasped the situation. "He'll come for us!" she exclaimed. "He means us to climb this rock and wait."
This seemed what the rider meant for as they scrambled up the ledge, he ceased to call and merely urged his horse to greater effort. Edith reached the top without accident, but Frances slipped and soaked both feet.
The horse, a beautiful chestnut thoroughbred with tossing mane, came at quick speed. In the distance, his rider looked a mere boy, but as he approached, the girls saw that he was a young man of twenty-three or four, with a fine, clean-cut face, who sat his horse as though a part of it.
Arriving by their rock, the chestnut checked himself in full gallop and turned almost in his stride.