Julia’s breath came with a spasm of agony, and her features seemed rigid.
“He hasn’t seen us yet,” whispered Cynthia, but with the same excitement in her voice. “Make haste.”
They almost ran on now, till they were obliged to pause for breath.
“Don’t look round,” whispered Cynthia, “whatever you do.”
“And we are farther than ever from the town!” moaned Julia, as she clasped her hands.
“Well, what does that matter?” cried Cynthia. “Why, Julie, how pale you look!”
“Oh, pray come on faster—faster,” whispered Julia.
“No, no, poor boy, I’ve led him dance enough. He may catch me now. Why, Julie,” she cried, “I declare I’ve frightened you. Oh, my dear sissy, I did not mean your Bogey: I meant mine. I wrote and told him we should be walking along here about four o’clock, but, of course, I never for a moment expected he would come.”
Poor Julia held one hand across her eyes as she drew a long breath of relief, and holding by her sister’s arm she walked slowly on, with her eyes closed, for they were now on a smooth stretch of sand.
“You must not be so ready to take alarm at nothing, dear. Oh, I say, Julie,” Cynthia added, piteously, “let’s turn back, or he won’t see us. No—yes. Hark! it’s all right; he has seen us. I can hear his step. Don’t look round, Julie,” she whispered, joyously. “Oh, dear, why it’s you, Harry. However did you come down?”