It was a fearful thought.
The air, though not cold, was more or less cutting to us who were completely soaked through, and as I saw the little woman shiver, I bestirred myself to make some move looking toward a betterment of our fortunes.
First we must get back of the sand dunes, where the wind might fail to reach us.
I assisted Hildegarde to her feet.
She was very weak, but growing in strength with each passing minute; all might be well if we could only manage to dry our bedraggled garments in some way.
One last eager look I cast up and down the beach, but not a living soul could I discover—far away some object lay upon the sand, which I suspected might be a body, but I dared not take Hildegarde there, and would not for the world leave her just then; the living had even more need of my services than the sacred dead.
In the distance I discovered trees, among them many stately palmettos—this gave me an idea which promised much.
In one of my pockets I always carried matches—they were in what was called a waterproof safe, and if one out of the lot could be induced to strike fire we would soon have a glorious blaze, before which we might find good cheer, and a chance to dry our garments.
So we trudged on—the exercise did us good in more ways than one, since it stirred up our blood, after the harrowing experience in the cold grasp of the sea.
For myself I cared naught—I was a man and had buffeted hard fortune many a time, so that I knew how to take things as they came; but I felt a wonderful pity for the brave little woman at my side, knowing how rough it was on her.