The launch drifted slowly, but none the less surely, toward the strip of sterile bleakness broken only by the huddled masses of the dunes. As she saw them that morning from the porch of Squire Goodwin's home, Ethel had thought them a splendid and inspiring spectacle. Now, under the changed circumstances, their nearer aspect terrified her. She felt a desperate wonder as to what fate might hold in store.
By a mighty effort of will, the girl forced back the fear that threatened to overcome her. She addressed Garnet in a voice that trembled only slightly.
"Would it not be better to drop the anchor, and remain out here where we could surely be seen by passing boats?"
The Doctor shook his head in negation as he answered:
"No, Miss Ethel. It would be of no use, for we are too far from the traveled route. Besides, you have been so long cramped up aboard this little boat that it's imperative that you should stretch yourself ashore. As far as the fishermen are concerned, we can make signals to them on shore as well as from here, better in fact."
He pointed suddenly.
"I can make out a rough fisherman's shack over younder between the dunes. There's no chance of its being occupied at this season, but the shelter afforded by it will mean everything to you."
Ethel looked in the direction indicated.
"Oh, yes, Doctor, I see it. I suppose it would help in an emergency, but I do hope we shall not be compelled to pass a night in this desolate place."
The physician's voice was surcharged with gloom—perhaps from pity for himself rather than for her—as he replied.