She paused for breath, but Mrs. Beauchamp’s arms tightened round her—­always so ready to hold and comfort.

“Thank you,” she said, very quietly; “you are giving me great comfort.  They would not stay on the rocks, would they?”

“No, of course not.”  Dot spoke with comforting certainty.  “They would clamber on to the island if the tide was high; but it is so terrifying in the dark.  And it was our fault—­Susie didn’t want to come.”

“It was a pity,” said Mrs. Beauchamp.

Her eyes, over Dot’s dishevelled head, flew to the doorway, and met those other alert eyes that understood and answered their question.  When did a woman in distress ever appeal in vain to the Royal Navy?

“I’ll get my boat out, and be ready in a quarter of an hour,” he said.  “You can meet me by the steps, lady, and you’d best bide in shelter as long as you can.”

“Thank you.  Can you?—­is it possible?  Those men said I must wait till daylight.”

“Lubberly loafers,” said the Royal Navy.  “In the Service things are ordered different.”

He opened the door and went out.  Through the opening Mrs. Beauchamp caught a glimpse of sailing clouds and starlight.

Dot was pressing on her again.

“Please forgive us if Susie gets home; it has been so miserable.  I knew Dash wasn’t asleep because of his breathing.  It has been dreadful for you and for Susie, but it is worse for us.”

Her voice fell to a husky whisper; her great black eyes were full of passionate entreaty; she shivered in her thin nightdress.

“My poor, poor children”—­there was nothing but the sweetest sympathy in Mrs. Beauchamp’s comforting touch—­“I forgive you now—­now while Susie is out there and I am still waiting for her.  I will let you know directly we are back and they are safe.  You must let me go now.”

Their father had disappeared, and Dash came hurrying downstairs in a shamefaced, sidelong fashion to be comforted.  He did not like being left beyond the reach of consolation.  But Mrs. Beauchamp disengaged the clinging arms.

“We will sit up till we know about them,” Dot said, with tears.

“No; you must go to bed and wait there,” Mrs. Beauchamp said firmly.  “I know,” she went on hurriedly, as there were signs of another storm, “that it is far harder; but duties like that are hard, and it is the only thing you can do to help.”

“Very well,” said Dot, with commendable meekness.

“Very well,” echoed Dash.

“Here, get back to bed.”  The master of the house, booted and mackintoshed, had come back into the hall, and the twins scampered up the stairs at the unaccustomed sternness of his voice.  He had a glass of wine and some biscuits in his hand, and he spoke almost as severely to Mrs. Beauchamp as he had done to the twins.  “Of course I am going with you.  I have rugs and mackintoshes and some brandy.  Can you suggest anything else?  No,” as she returned the half-emptied glass; “drink all the wine.  I insist on it.”