"Most true," he answered, smiling in reply. "The silent communion with Nature is not a sociable observance; and, as you say, we must have stood here a good while. Let's follow this footpath. It seems to run round the island on the inner side. The walking will be easier, and we shall get back sooner than by crossing the hill as we came."
The path ran for a time along the edge of cliffs, which stood some forty or fifty feet above the sea, and sank sheer down into deep water, fretting the smooth green billows rolling by into a fringe of foam. Turning with the rounding of the land, the path struck down upon the leeward side of the island and ran along the shore.
"Should we not hurry?" Rose Hillyard observed. "The tide must have sunk a long way since we left the steamer. See those rocks covered with wet sea-weed. They must have been under water this last tide, and now they are feet above it. The captain spoke about the tide, and his fear of stranding, and being forced to wait twelve hours for next high water. Must we not make haste?"
"I do not see why we should disturb ourselves. There are three of our people yonder, sitting on a sandhill and at ease. Had we not better do likewise? They seem happy.... As for me, I have no watch, and no care for time. Let us be guided by them."
"And my watch has stopped, or something. Well!... I hope those others are keeping track of the time.... Yes, it is nice here. The air is more still than it was on the cliffs, and yet not so hot. But is the light not growing dim? This is pleasanter than the glare of mid-day. Why can it not be always afternoon? Yet, has it not come on us rather suddenly?"
They were sitting now, and their talk was dribbling along in an easy, drowsy way, such as might be expected from people who had been for so many hours in each other's company. It was after luncheon, after a walk, after a day whose heat and blazing brightness had only been made tolerable by fresh sea-air, in itself a form of stimulation. Their nerves, all day kept tense, were relaxing now, and a restful feeling, born of harmonious companionship, was extending from the mind into the physical system, and producing a tranquillity in which content was verging towards lethargy. In fact, they were a little tired, and more than a little sleepy. Head propped on hand, and that supported on the extended elbow, they reclined upon the bent which clothed a swelling sandhill. Conversation grew intermittent and monosyllabic, and then ceased--their eyelids growing momentarily heavier without their being aware.
A shrill reverberation broke upon the air. It stopped, and began anew, and ended in a volley of shrill, short, barking shrieks. Joseph lifted his head and looked about. He had forgot about the steamboat, and the idea of its whistling a recall did not occur to him It was sea-fowl he thought of in that solitary place, and he wondered drowsily at the harshness of their cry, and their strength of lung. He threw a listless glance aloft, but not a wing was visible over all the sky; only the sun was veiled now in a cloud, and did not dazzle--which was comfortable, and made the restful feeling more complete.
The next sensation he was conscious of was damp. Big drops of rain were lighting on his face, and wetting his limbs through the thin summer clothing. He started now. Yes, he must have slept. The sky was black, and the scene grown dim like twilight. Like twilight for an instant, and then a blinding flash made everything intensely visible, and the heavens seemed to crack above the trembling earth with loud reverberating thunder.
He started and laid his hand on his companion's shoulder.
"Rosa!"--How sweet the name felt on his lips, even in his hurry! It was his first time to use it. But had he the right?--"Miss Hillyard! Arouse! A storm is coming on. You will be drenched. Arouse!"