"Funny!" she said as she retreated before a wave which surged over the rocks and swirled up behind her. "But—why—I've nothing on! And my arm!—why, I'm simply cut to bits. And—and oh! I've been dreaming—and how dark it is; there must be a storm coming!"
As she spoke she hurriedly flung herself into her clothes, biting her lips as the lace and ribbons caught in the horrible gash in her arm, and was standing waiting for the water to recede before she jumped, just as a voice as from heaven itself called.
"Leonie! where are you? Leonie, the tide is coming in!"
She did not wait, she jumped clear, stumbling and falling on the other side, ripping her feet until they bled.
Then she got up and ran blindly, impelled by terror pursued by the fear of something far more terrible than death.
"Jan! Jan! help me!"
Without a word he caught her and lifted her, holding her closely.
Never a word he said as they raced through from one cove to the other, neither when the waters buffeted him nor when weeds twined about his feet, and rocks impeded him.
Swiftly he carried her up the slight incline and laid her on the grass, took off his coat, ripped out his shirt sleeve, and tearing it into strips, bound up the bleeding arm.
Then sitting down beside her he leant over sideways and picked her up bodily, clear from the ground into his arms; no mean feat with a toilet jug full of water, let alone with a hefty maiden weighted with grief.