"Miss Brandt? Margaret? Oh, good God!"--and there was in his voice a
note that was new to her. Sharp and strident with keenest anxiety, it
set a sudden fire in her heart, for it was for her.
"I am here, Mr. Graeme," she cried, and he came plunging down to her
through the dripping gorse and bracken.
"Thank God!" he said fervently. "Why ever did you move?"
"I have not stirred."
"I must have got wrong. It is blinding. It will be safest to wait
here, I think. Will you hold on to my arm?"
And as she slipped her hand through it she felt it trembling--the arm
that had always been so strong and steadfast in her service--and she
knew that this too was for her.
"Where is Hennie?" she asked.
"She's all right. I made her sit down among the bushes and told her
she'd surely get smashed if she moved."
It was a good half-hour before the cloud drew off and they saw
Guernsey, Herm, and Jethou sparkling in the sun once more.
Then they crossed the narrow path over the neck, and Margaret was glad
they had not attempted it in the fog.
They picked up Miss Penny, damp but cheerful, and went home. For
everything was dripping, and the pleasures of camping out were over
for that day, but there were fires about that all the fogs that ever
had been could not begin to extinguish.