"There are mountains up the beach, and back of us, too. You could never find your way out." Her tone was despairing.
"True," he admitted.
There was a long pause. Then she said slowly: "It seems to be your only hope, doesn't it? Well, I guess you had better go. God bless you!" she concluded as though it were her last word.
Suddenly it occurred to him that he had been thinking and talking of himself alone. The idea of parting from this woman who could see, whom it seemed to him he had found as his own means of salvation, immediately became impossible.
"I am going to take you with me," he stated quietly.
"You forget," she said, "I cannot walk."
He had forgotten it for the moment. Now it filled him with new terror. He laid his hand on hers. "I can't help it," he said finally, "I can't leave you. I will carry you."
"Oh, no!" Her protest was genuine.
He felt her fear that she would hamper him. "Don't be foolish," he said as though he had known her for years, "I am not being gallant. This is not a time for gallantry. I am simply being sensible. You can't sit here, can you?"
"I can't help myself, can I? I can't walk."