“Then what can we do?”
“There is naught that I see, but wait. Monsieur Cassion will be blown south, but will return when the storm subsides to seek you. No doubt he will think you dead, yet will scarcely leave without search. See, the sky grows lighter already, and the wind is less fierce. It would be my thought to attain the woods yonder, and build a fire to dry our clothes; the air chills.”
I looked where he pointed, up a narrow rift in the rocks, yet scarcely felt strength or courage to attempt the ascent. He must have read this in my face, and seen my form shiver as the wind struck my wet garments, for he made instant decision.
“Ah, I have a better thought than that, for you are too weak to attempt the climb. Here, lie down, Madame, and I will cover you with the sand. It is warm and dry. Then I will clamber up yonder, and fling wood down; ’twill be but a short time until we have a cheerful blaze here.”
I shook my head, but he would listen to no negative, and so, at last, I yielded to his insistence, and he piled the white sand over me until all but my face was covered. To me the position was ridiculous enough, yet I appreciated the warmth and protection, and he toiled with enthusiasm, his tongue as busy as his hands in effort to make me comfortable.
“’Tis the best thing possible; the warmth of your body will dry your clothes. Ah, it is turning out a worthy adventure, but will soon be over with. The storm is done already, although the waves still beat the shore fiercely. ’Tis my thought Monsieur Cassion will be back along this way ere dusk, and a canoe can scarce go past without being seen while daylight lasts, and at night we will keep a fire. There, is that better? You begin to feel warm?”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“Then lie still, and do not worry. All will come out right in a few hours more. Now I will go above, and throw down some dry wood. I shall not be out of sight more than a few minutes.”