The tide had seemed to come in galloping like a racehorse, but now it crawled out like a snail; and they were both so utterly worn, that when at last the water was shallow enough, they just sank down and sat in it, leaning against each other, and yearning for what seemed to them the most desirable thing on earth at that moment—a dry spot on which to stretch themselves out and go to sleep.
"I know now what exhaustion is," said Beth, with her head on Alfred's shoulder.
"Do you know, Beth," he rejoined with a wan smile, "you've been picking up information ever since you fell acquainted with me here. I can count a dozen new experiences you've mentioned already. If you go on like this always, you'll know everything in time."
"I hope so!" Beth muttered. "Fell acquainted with you, isn't bad; but I wonder if tumbled wouldn't have been better——"
She dozed off uncomfortably before she could finish the sentence. He had settled himself with his head against the uncertain cliff, which beetled above them ominously; but they were both beyond thinking or caring about it. Vaguely conscious of each other, and of the sea-voice that gradually grew distant and more distant as the water went out beyond the headland, leaving them stranded in the empty cove, they rested and slept uneasily, yet heavily enough to know little of the weary while they had to wait before they could make their escape.
For it was not until the sun had set and the moon hung high above the sea in a sombre sky, that at last they were able to go.
CHAPTER XXVII
It was dark night when Beth got back to the little house in Orchard Street. She had hoped to slip in unobserved, but her mother was looking out for her.
"Where have you been?" she demanded angrily.