Her movement was so sudden and so unexpected that neither Miss Tredgold nor Verena had time to say a word. The people in the shop saw a somewhat untidy-looking little girl rush wildly down the stairs and out of doors, and long before Miss Tredgold had time to recover her scattered senses that same little girl was tearing as though on the wings of the wind up the High Street. Panting, breathless, overpowered with emotion, she presently reached the long flat stretch of beach at the farther end of which was the dangerous White Bay. Never in all her life had Pauline run as she did now. Faster and faster flew her feet. There was a noise in her ears as though something was hammering on her brain. She was almost faint with terror. Should she be in time? Should she be too late? Oh! she must be in time.
Presently she saw the far end of the promontory. Her heart gave a bound and almost stood still. What was that white thing curling round it? Water? Oh, yes; but she did not mind. She had waded before now. This was a case of wading again. She reached the spot, and a moment later she had torn off her shoes and stockings, had gathered her skirts round her waist, and was walking through the waves. The water was already over a foot deep. There was also a strong tide, and she had some difficulty in keeping her feet. She managed to hold her own, however, and found herself a minute or two later, drenched all over, panting and trembling, but still safe in the White Bay. To her relief, she saw three terrified children crouching up as near as they dared to the water. Even now a great wave, deeper and stronger than its predecessors, rolled in. It took Pauline off her feet just as she was clambering to dry ground. She recovered herself, ran up to Pen, took her hand, and said:
“We have played pickaback before now. Get on my back this moment; don’t stop to think.”
“I daren’t,” said Pen.
“Little boy—I don’t know your name,” said Pauline—“put Pen onto my back whatever happens.”
Harry Carver sprang towards Pen.
“You must,” he said. “She is brave; she is a true heroine. The lions and tigers would love her. Get on her back and she will return for us. Oh! be quick—do be quick—for we don’t any of us want to be drowned.”
“Can you swim?” asked Pauline. “No; I know you can’t. I haven’t a moment to stay; I’ll come back somehow.”
She struggled towards the water, but Pen scrambled off her back and stood firm on the ground.
“I am bad,” she said—“there never was anybody much badder—but I’m not going first. Take that little girl; I will go afterwards.”