The tumult was still audible, but it was farther away, less overwhelming. She opened her eyes in a strange, unnatural twilight, and stared vaguely upwards.
At the same instant she became aware of some one at her side, bending over her—a man whose face, revealed to her in the dim light, sent a throb of wonder through her heart.
"You!" she said, speaking with a great effort. "Is it really you?"
He was rubbing one of her hands between his own. He paused to answer.
"Yes; it's really me," he said. And she fancied his voice quivered a little. "They told me I might perhaps find you on the shore. Are you better?"
She tried to sit up, and he helped her, keeping his arm about her shoulders. She found herself lying on a ledge of rock high up in the slanting wall of a deep and narrow cave. She knew the place well, and had always avoided it with instinctive aversion. It was horribly eerie. The rocky walls were wet with the ooze and slime of the ages. There was a trickle of spring-water along the ridged floor.
Evelyn closed her eyes dizzily. The marvel of the man's presence was still upon her, but the horror of death haunted her also. She would rather have been drowned outside on the howling shore than here.
"The sea comes in at high tide," she murmured shakily.
Lester Cheveril, crouching beside her, made undaunted reply.
"Yes, I know. But it won't touch us. Don't be afraid!"