Without a word she climbed and sitting on the little plateau looked down on him.
Then he followed with the things and took his seat beside her. They sat for a while without a word, the bare rocks and the grey sea before them.
A great rock out at sea, pierced and arched like the frame work of a door, shewed through its opening the sea beyond. Gulls flew round it and their eternal complaint came on the wind blowing, still lightly, from the north.
Raft seemed absorbed in thought.
Then he said: “It won’t be high water until gettin’ on for dark. We’d better stick here the night anyhow and get the low tide to-morrow. But there’s time for me now to get to that next shoulder and see what’s beyond, it’s a matter of four miles there maybe and four miles back.”
“I’ll go with you,” said she, “I’m stronger now.”
“No, you stick here,” said he. “There’s no call for two to go. You’ll want your strength for the morning.”
“Only for you I wouldn’t be here,” said she.
“Well, maybe you wouldn’t,” said Raft. “It’s as well I was along with you, but you ain’t no weight—no more than a kitten. I never thought you were as bad as that or I’d have lifted you miles back.”
“Aren’t you tired?” she asked.