“I guess there’s no reason why anybody else should hear of this,” he said. “It seems to me that Miss Hamilton would be just as well pleased if we were not around when she awakens.”
He stooped and shook Nasmyth’s shoulder as Wisbech disappeared among the shadows.
“Get up,” said Acton. “Wait until I get away, and then waken her.”
It was a minute before Nasmyth, who stood up stiffly, quite understood him, and then the blood rose to his face as he crept into the shelter and touched the girl. She sprang to her feet with a little cry and clutched his arm. Then she suddenly let her hand fall back, and her cheeks flushed crimson.
“The steamer’s close by,” said Nasmyth reassuringly. “They have sent for us at last.”
They went out together, and it was a minute or two later when they came upon Wisbech and Acton in the Bush. Nasmyth entered into confused explanations as they proceeded towards the beach. The sky was a little lighter when they reached it, and standing near the sinking 185 fire, they could dimly see the gig plunging amidst the froth and spray. Then George’s voice reached them.
“Can’t you let us have them, Mr. Acton? It’s most all we can do to keep her off the beach,” he said.
Acton glanced at the strip of tumbling foam––through which he had waded waist-deep––between them and the boat, and Nasmyth turned towards Miss Hamilton, who, to his astonishment, recoiled from him. Acton, however, made him a sign of command.
“I guess,” he said, “she’d be safer with you.”
Nasmyth said nothing, but he picked the girl up, as unconcernedly as he could, for the second time that day, and staggered down the rough beach with her. He contrived to keep his footing when a frothing sea broke against him, and, floundering through the seething water, reached the lurching boat. George seized his burden, and gently deposited it in one of the seats. Scrambling on board, Nasmyth groped for an oar, and in another minute or two they laboriously drove the gig out towards the blinking lights of the Tillicum.