“How far have we gone?” she asked.
“About a league,” answered Nasmyth quietly. “I think we could make the inlet in another two hours. That is, if the beach isn’t very much rougher.”
The girl leaned against a branch wearily. “I’m afraid I can’t go a step further,” she replied with trembling lips.
The rain beat upon them, and Nasmyth stood still a moment looking at her.
“Well,” he said, “we really can’t stay here. Since there seems no other way, I think I could carry you.”
His diffidence was evident, and Violet smiled. “Have you ever carried anybody––a distance––before?” she asked.
“No,” said Nasmyth, “I certainly haven’t.”
“Then I don’t think there would be much use in trying. You couldn’t carry me for more than four or five minutes. That wouldn’t be worth while, would it?”
Nasmyth said nothing for a minute or two, for he felt compassionate as well as a trifle confused. He had, in fact, already discovered that there are occasions when a young woman is apt to show greater self-possession and look facts in the face more plainly than a man. Then he set to work furiously with a branch which he tore from the fallen tree, ripping off rough slabs of bark, and in the course of half an hour had constructed a shelter about the base of a cedar. It, at least, kept the rain off when Violet sat under it.
“It might be as well if I pushed on for the inlet and brought George or Acton back with me,” he suggested. “We could make something to carry you in, if there was too much sea for the gig.”