Miss Limpenny’s emotion found vent in a squeal.

Mr. Fogo, heard, halted, and gazed blankly around.

“How singular!” he murmured.  “I could have sworn I heard a cry.”

He made another step.  The sound was repeated, more shrilly.

“Again!  And, dear me, it sounds human—­as of some fellow-creature in distress.”

“Go away!  Go away at once!”

“Eh?  Bless my soul, what can it be?” Mr. Fogo stared in the direction whence the voice proceeded, but of course without seeing anything.

“I beg your pardon?” he observed mildly.

“Go away!”

“If you will allow me—­” he began, courteously addressing vacancy.

“Monster!”

The awful truth began to dawn upon him, and was followed by a hasty impulse to dive.

“If,” he stammered, “I am right in supposing myself to address a lady—­”

“Don’t talk to me, but go away.”

“I was about to ask permission to resume my spectacles, which I have unfortunately laid aside.”

“No, no.  That would be worse.  Oh! go away at once.”

“Pardon me, madam.  I am aware that spectacles are insufficient as a—­I mean, I did not propose to consider them in the light of a costume, but as an assistance to my sight, without which—­”

“Oh!  I shall faint.”

“Without which it will be impossible for me to extricate myself from this extremely unfortunate situation.  I am notoriously short-sighted, madam, and at this distance could not tell you from Adam—­I should say, from Eve,” continued Mr. Fogo, desperately reaching out for his spectacles and adjusting them.

By the imperfect glimpse which he obtained through the glasses (which were still damp) he was almost moved to adopt his first impulse of deserting the boat and diving.  But even if he swam away the case would be no better, for this unreasonable female stood sentry beside his clothes.

“If I might make a suggestion, madam—­”

But by this time Miss Limpenny had broken forth into a series of sobs and plaintive cries for protection.  Alas! the rest of the picnic-party were deep within the woods, and out of hearing.

“Believe me, my dear madam—­”

“I am not your dear madam.”

“I have no other intention than to get out of this.”

“Ah! he confesses it.”

“I assure you—­”

“Will no one protect me?” wailed the lady, wringing her hands and sobbing anew.  But help was near, though from an unexpected quarter.

[Illustration:  “Will no one protect me?” wailed the lady . . .]

“Hulloa!” cried a voice on the bank above, “what be all this?”

And Peter Dearlove pushed aside the bushes and descended to the shingle, closely followed by Paul.  He was just in time, for Miss Limpenny, with a thankful little cry, staggered and fell fainting into his arms.

“Mercy ’pon us!” exclaimed Peter, seeing only the lady, and not at first the cause of her distress, “’tes Miss Limpenny.”