“What is the matter?” Anne asked.
“The steamer! Am I dreaming, or has she gone?”
“Certainly she is not there.” Anne quickened her steps.
Wareham’s face was very grave. He dashed into the inn, and hammered at old Hansen’s door. Anne waited outside, reflecting on the situation. Wareham came slowly out at last, followed by the burly landlord.
“I am afraid it is too true,” he said. “I shall never forgive myself for implicitly trusting a Norwegian time-table. They left at one o’clock.”
He looked at Hansen, Hansen looked at Anne. It was she who first spoke.
“When is the next boat?”
“To-morrow afternoon.”
Wareham hazarded the remark—
“If I were to take you back to Stalheim? There is sure to be some one you could join.”