“They probably discovered our absence about daybreak and surmised correctly the direction the breeze would carry us,” he muttered half bitterly.  “We must go at once.”  These last words he spoke firmly.

“But where?” Again it was Sonia Turgeinov who questioned him.  Betty Dalrymple remained silent; her eyes shone with a new inscrutable light; her cheek, though pale, had the warmth of a live pearl.  She touched the sands with the tip of her shoe.

But he did not regard her, nor did he answer Sonia Turgeinov.  Going to the tent, he bent over the basket of biscuits and hastily filled his pockets.  Then, throwing a woman’s heavy cloak over his arm, he stepped quickly to Miss Dalrymple’s side.

“Come,” he said laconically.

Her foot, Cinderella’s for daintiness, ceased its motion; she turned at once.  Around her lips a strange little smile flitted but faded almost immediately.  Save for her straightness and that proud characteristic poise of the head, she might have seemed, at that moment of emergency, a veritable Griselda for acquiescence.  He started to walk away, when—­

“What about me?” cried Sonia Turgeinov.

“You can come or you can stay,” said Mr. Heatherbloom.  “The chances are that the prince will see the boat, land and get you.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“There are plenty of biscuits, and I’ll send back for you when I can.”

“That prospect is not very inviting,” she demurred.  “Suppose I elect not to risk it—­to go with you?”

“It is for you to decide, and quickly,” he said in a cold crisp tone.

“You dismiss my fate bruskly, Monsieur,” she returned.

“There is no time to bandy words, Madam,” he retorted warmly.  “I am not oblivious to you—­I trust I would not be to any woman—­but every minute now is precious.”

“Of course!” An instant she looked at the girl and a spark appeared in the dark eyes.  Then Sonia Turgeinov’s features abruptly relaxed and she waved her hand carelessly.  “I have decided,” she said in her old manner.  “Go!  My best adieus, Monsieur—­Mademoiselle.”  With a gay courtesy.  “Farewell! babes in the wood!” Her voice was once more mocking.  They moved silently away but before they had gone far enough to disappear in the forest she suddenly ran toward them.  “No, no!” she said in a different voice.  “I have changed my mind.  It is such a tiny, thing, that boat—­in the glare and shine.  They might not see it, and then—­” She shuddered, “How frightfully lonesome!—­the terrible nights—­”

He made an impatient gesture.  “After me, then!  You, Miss Dalrymple, will come last.”

“Ah, you think I am coming because I may wish to help them?” Sonia Turgeinov said quickly.

“I intend to take no chances,” he returned in the same tone.  And the three moved on.