"Ay—together, but, God be thanked, it did not come to that!"
They sat in silence for a time, finding themselves, while the green seas swelled up to their feet, and sank out of sight below, and their rock was laced with cascades of creamy foam.
"How shall we get back?" asked Margaret at last. "Hennie will be in desperation. She will think we are drowned."
"We can climb the head and round into Grande Grève, but it would be pretty rough on the feet. Or we can wait till the tide turns and swim in again—"
"When will it turn?"
"It's full at noon," he said, studying the waters in front. "But how that affects matters here none but a Sarkman could say. Tides here are a law unto themselves, like the people."
"How would that do?" asked Margaret, as a black boat came slowly round the rocks from Les Fontaines, sculled by an elderly fisherman.
"It is old Billy Mollet after his lobster-pots," and he stood up and coo-eed to the new-comer, and waved his arms till Billy saw them and stared hard and then turned leisurely their way.
"Guyablle!" said the old man, as he drew in. "What you doin' there now?"