“But that only adds to the danger,” she argued desperately.  “The fog may come down sooner than you expect, and then you’d lose your bearings altogether.”

“I must risk that,” he answered grimly.  “Don’t you realize that it’s impossible—­impossible for us to remain here?”

“No, I don’t,” she returned stubbornly.  “It isn’t worth such a frightful risk.  Some one is sure to look for us eventually.”

“‘Eventually’ might mean to-morrow morning”—­drily—­“and that would be just twelve hours too late.  It’s worth the risk fifty times over.”

“It’s not!”—­passionately.  “Do you suppose I care two straws for the gossip of a parcel of spiteful old women?”

“Not at the moment, perhaps, but later you wouldn’t be able to help it.  What people think of you, what they say of you, can make all the difference between heaven and hell.”  He spoke heavily, as though his words were weighted with some deadening memory.  “And do you think I could bear to feel that I—­I had given people a handle for gossiping about you?  I’d cut their tongues out first!” he added savagely.

He stripped off his coat, and, sitting down on a rock, began removing his boots, while Sara stood watching him in silence with big, sombre eyes.

Presently he stood up, bareheaded and barefooted.  Below the lean, tanned face the column of his throat showed white as a woman’s, while the thin silk of his vest revealed the powerful line of shoulder at its base.  His keen eyes were gazing steadily across to the opposite shore, as though measuring the distance he must traverse, and as a chance shaft from the westering sun rested upon him, investing him momentarily in its radiance, there seemed something rather splendid about him—­something very sure and steadfast and utterly without fear.

A sharp cry broke from Sara.

“Garth!  Garth!”—­his name sprang to her lips spontaneously.  “You mustn’t go!  You mustn’t go! . . .”

He wheeled round, and at the sight of her white, strained face a sudden light leapt into his eyes—­the light of a great incredulity with, back of it, an unutterable hope and longing.  In two strides he was at her side, his hands gripping her shoulders.

“Why, Sara?—­God in heaven!”—­the words came hurrying from him, hoarse and uneven—­“I believe you care!”

For an instant he hesitated, seeming to hold himself in check, then he caught her in his arms, kissing her fiercely on eyes and lips and throat.

“My dear! . . .  Oh!  My dear! . . .”

She could hear the broken words stammered through his hurried breathing as she lay unresistingly in his arms; then she felt him put her from him, gently, decisively, and she stood alone, swaying slightly.  A long shuddering sigh ran through her body.

“Garth!”

She never knew whether the word really passed her lips or whether it was only the cry of her inmost being, so importunate, so urgent that it seemed to take on actual sound.