The first few strokes were a bit painful on account of my damaged knuckles, which started bleeding afresh the moment I closed my hands. They soon ceased to smart, however; and, keeping the same course as before, I plugged steadily along, until the mouth of the creek opened up dimly on my left-hand side. A short but strenuous battle with the current brought me safely across to the landing-stage, where I grabbed hold of the chain and waved a triumphant greeting to Christine.
"Welcome!" I said "Welcome to Greensea Island!"
She smiled back at me, such a wan, pathetic little smile that I impulsively leaned over and pressed her hand.
"My own dear," I whispered, "you have just got to be happy. Remember, you are coming home for the first time."
I felt her fingers squeeze mine gently in return; then with a sudden trace of shyness she pushed them away and got up quickly from her seat.
"You must be wet through," she said, "and as for your poor coat—" She held it up with an expression of penitent dismay. "You will have to go and change everything directly we get to the house."
"Oh, it won't hurt me," I protested. "I've been drenched so often that I can't catch a cold even if I try."
I steadied the boat while she stepped out, and then, jumping ashore myself, led the way forward in the direction of the shrubbery.
As we entered the path, and the gloom of the trees closed in about us, she slipped her arm through mine.
"It's not a very cheerful place, is it?" she said with a slight shiver.