'Come along, Snap,' said Winifred, and she flew along the sands without another word.
Ah, she could run!—faster than I could, with my bruised heel! She was there first.
'Leap in, Winnie,' I cried, 'and struggle towards the Point; it will save time. I shall he with you in a second.'
Winifred plunged into the tide (Snap following with a bark), and fought her way so bravely that my fear now was lest she should be out of her depth before I could reach her, and then, clad as she was, she would certainly drown. But never tor a moment did her good sense leave her. When she was nearly waist-high she stopped and turned round, gazing at me as I tore through the shallow water—gazing with a wistful, curious look that her face would have worn had we been playing.
To get round the Point and pull Winifred round was no slight task, for the water was nearly up to my breast, and a woman's clothing seems designed for drowning her. Any other woman than Winifred would have been drowned, and would have drowned me with her. But in straits of this kind the only safety lies in courage.
'What a night's adventures!' said Winifred, after we had turned the Point, and were walking through the shallow water towards the gangway.
We hurried towards the cottage as fast as our wet clothes would permit. On reaching it we found the door unlocked, and entered.
'Father has again gone to bed,' said Winifred, 'and left no candle burning for me.'
And without seeing her face, I knew by the tremor of the hand I clasped that she was listening with shame for the drunken snore that she would never hear again.
I lighted a match, which with a candle I found on a chair.