He stopped and began to talk rapidly, and he rubbed her cold hands as he spoke.
"You must," he said sternly. "We can't stop here. Don't you know the sea may cover the peninsula, and that the tide is coming in, and is cutting off the neck?"
She nodded.
"I'll try again, oh, I will try!"
She staggered on—blindly, clinging to him. He could feel the cold, tense pressure of her fingers, and it thrilled him. She could feel the strong touch of his hand, and it reassured her. Neither could see the face of the other.
And still the tide crept in on either side of the narrow peninsula. It was the only thing he was conscious of—except her presence and her danger.
If he could lead her from out of this mist! If he could save her! If he could reach the neck in time! His heart burnt within him, and cried out in passionate protest that he seemed so powerless—he who loved her so!
He drew her hand closer and he bent over her for a moment, his face near to her own. They could see each other's faces so,—faintly.
"Dear," he whispered, and his heart was in his voice.
She clung to his hands, trembling.