"You don't know yet if he could cross the sands."
"That's true. I'm going to find out. You had better climb up while the light lasts."
Whitney reached the deck with some difficulty, and it was dark below when Andrew joined him.
"We haven't much time to lose if we're to see whether it's possible to get here from the beach."
They dropped over the side and set off across the bank. The wind buffeted them and driving sand rattled on their oilskins. Whitney hoped that Andrew was going straight, because the moon was obscured again, and the Solway tide rises remarkably fast. For a time they saw nothing but shallow pools in winding hollows and balls of foam that seemed half solidified as they blew along the ground. Whitney thought it must be past low-water, but Andrew trudged quietly on and he made no protest. At last they came to a broad stream of water, and he noted with mixed feelings that there was no way of getting round. He was not sorry that it threatened to stop their advance; but his comrade was not easily daunted and might try to wade across.
"As there's not likely to be another big gutter between us and the beach, it would be a pity to turn back now," Andrew shouted.
"I'll wait and see how you get on," Whitney replied.
Andrew plunged in and was soon knee-deep. When he had gone a few yards farther, the water splashed about the skirts of his oilskin jacket and he came out.
"We might have crossed, but the bottom's soft, and there's some stream," he said.
"Which way is it running?"