He watched her as she looked toward the sinking sun, and after it had disappeared he stole up behind her and stooped over her, calling her by name, softly, as though afraid the sea and pines would hear.
She looked up, and then her eyes went back quickly to the afterglow.
The incoming tide lapped softly against the rocks on the shore, and drew nearer. The pink and purple of the clouds changed to a delicate gray, that deepened as the moments passed; and from the sea there stole landward a thin white vapor, as exquisite as a bride's veil, but growing thicker and thicker as it came nearer.
Stewart, following the direction of her eyes, straightened himself suddenly with the alertness that comes with the consciousness of danger.
"It's the mist," he said, briefly. "Come."
He took her hand and held it, and when she would have drawn it away, he tightened his hold.
"You need my help," he said sharply. "We've got to get out of this just as quick as we can!"
The white vapor, grown thicker, crept up behind them, and Stewart changed their rapid pace into a run, but the mist caught up with them, and by and by surrounded them and hid the sea behind them and on either side, and the narrow neck in front. He urged her on over the two miles that lay between them and the mainland.
After awhile he felt her hold on his arm relax.
"I—can't—go—so fast," she panted. "I—I—" and her voice trailed off and was lost in the heaviness of the mist.