"Walk quicker, I beg of you, instead of lounging
along in that listless way. Come, Margaret
dear; there is no time to lose. We, at least
must make all the haste we can."

"Is there any danger, papa?"

"No; not exactly danger. That is, not yet
But we must not be afraid of wetting our feet
Do you see what you have brought us to.
Madame Dupuis? We are caught in a trap by
the rising tide. We cannot go back to Sangatte.
If we stay here, as you seem to wish, we shall be
surely drowned. Our only chance is to push on
immediately to the coast-guard's station at Le
Cran, an outpost of the village of Escalle. If
we can only get round that furthest buttress of
the cliff, we are safe. Exert yourself, as you
value your life."

"I don't value my life. It is not my own. I
gambled it away."

"Have you lost your senses, Madame
Dupuis?"

A ribbon of dry ground had hitherto remained
between the cliff and the sea, leading to a chaotic
mass of fallen blocks, round which we might
have walked half an hour ago, but over which
we should now have to clamber. While I was
speaking, an advancing wave covered this dry
strip knee-deep with water, and did not retire.
There it remained, waiting for other waves to
swell it. Our position was now clear to my mind.
By hesitating, I might lose both my companions.
Certainly, I should have to choose which I
would save, my daughter or Madame Dupuis.

"Margaret, my dear," I said, feigning to make
light of it, " we must take things as they come.
They say salt water never gives cold. We will
walk through this as far as those rocks. Follow
us instantly, Madame Dupuis."

The brave girl took my arm without flinching,
and we waded together through the heaving
pool. We reached the rocks; and then still
greater difficulties began. But first we turned
round to see if Madame Dupuis was following
us. Instead of that, there she stood motionless
on the very spot where we left her, at the foot
of the white cliff, smooth and perpendicular as
a wail, with the waves already bathing her feet.
We called and beckoned; she did not stir, made
no visible acknowledgment.

On then we went, scrambling over the chaos
of rocks, hoping to cross them before it was too
late. They were boulders varying in size from a
beer-barrel to a roomy cottage, heaped in
confusion where they had fallen from the cliff — an
avalanche of stone, with the earth between their
interstices washed away by the rains and the
waves. So far from lying close together, they
were separated by deep and yawning gaps.
Sometimes, it was as much as we could do to
step across the intervals from one rock to
another. Some were slippery with mantling
seaweed; others were rougher than rasps, from
their coating of barnacles and the disintegration
of the stone itself. We had often to climb
on our hands and knees, I helping my companion
to the next step, and then following myself.

All this with the consciousness that the sea was
continually rising, to cut us off!

At last we reached the. top, breathless, and
again looked back after Madame Dupuis. There
she was still, with the water up to her knees.
We shouted, we waved our arms; but no sign
or answer was given. Margaret, scanning the
long slope of rocks, suggested: "If we climbed
higher, towards the cliff, and waited there till
the waters ebbed?"

"No, dear child; it cannot be. Such a night
would kill you. We must descend again, and
get round that buttress, as I said. A few
minutes more, and the thing is done!"

The thing was not done, though. One false
step, and then — a broken leg, a sprained
ankle; the very thought turned me clammy
cold. But the consciousness that, in losing
presence of mind, I should jeopardise not only
myself, but what was dearer than self, speedily set
me right again.

"Softly; no hurry! That's a good girl. The
more haste the worse speed. Capital! Why,
you're as steady as old Time."

"But we have lost sight of Madame Dupuis.
Poor thing! What will become of her?"

"Her only chance is that we should do what
we are doing. Bravo! We have at last got
down from the last of the rocks. Give me a kiss,
child. Thank God, we are out of that mess!
Straight forward now on a solid bottom. Never
mind the water. More or less wetting makes
little difference to us now. Not too near the
cliff. That stone must have fallen this very day.
A few yards more, and— good girl! — here we
are safe!"

At the bottom of an earthy chink in the cliff
stood two douaniers or coast-guards, looking out
attentively. They came forward to meet us.

"We have been watching you," said the elder.
"You had not a minute to spare. Come up to
the station. We can give you a drop of brandy."

"But there is still a lady behind," I said.
"Come both of you with me, and rescue her."

"Is it possible!" the same coast-guard
exclaimed, preparing to start instantly; but the
younger man shook his head in silent refusal.

"I will go alone," said the other. " I can
swim. I have already saved lives."

Without further parley, he was gone, stalking
through the rising waters. He climbed the pile
of boulders; he was at their top; he disappeared
behind them. Then came a moment of
intense anxiety. We could not speak; our lips
were parched with thirst. Instinctively we held
out our hands to catch the clear spring water
that trickled from the rock, and drank with an
enjoyment never felt before. It was breathing
fresh air after suffocation.

There we remained, unconscious of our wetting
straining our eyes at the mass of boulders whose
ruggedness we knew so well. The younger man
remained standing behind us, but said not a
word, perhaps for shame.

"What a while he is gone! Why does he
not come back? Are they both lost? I was