"They probably discovered our absence about daybreak and surmised correctly the direction the breeze would carry us," he muttered half bitterly. "We must go at once." These last words he spoke firmly.
"But where?" Again it was Sonia Turgeinov who questioned him. Betty Dalrymple remained silent; her eyes shone with a new inscrutable light; her cheek, though pale, had the warmth of a live pearl. She touched the sands with the tip of her shoe.
But he did not regard her, nor did he answer Sonia Turgeinov. Going to the tent, he bent over the basket of biscuits and hastily filled his pockets. Then, throwing a woman's heavy cloak over his arm, he stepped quickly to Miss Dalrymple's side.
"Come," he said laconically.
Her foot, Cinderella's for daintiness, ceased its motion; she turned at once. Around her lips a strange little smile flitted but faded almost immediately. Save for her straightness and that proud characteristic poise of the head, she might have seemed, at that moment of emergency, a veritable Griselda for acquiescence. He started to walk away, when—
"What about me?" cried Sonia Turgeinov.
"You can come or you can stay," said Mr. Heatherbloom. "The chances are that the prince will see the boat, land and get you."
"And if he doesn't?"
"There are plenty of biscuits, and I'll send back for you when I can."
"That prospect is not very inviting," she demurred. "Suppose I elect not to risk it—to go with you?"