CHAPTER V
"And he the wind-whipped, any whither wave
Crazily tumbled on a shingle-grave
To waste in foam."
George Meredith.
Towards evening Dick regained consciousness.
"Annette." That was always the first word.
"Here." That was always the second.
"I lost the way back," he said breathlessly. "I thought I should never find it, but I had to come."