Instantly there were a scuffle in the upper passage and a rush of bare
feet to the top of the stairs. Mrs. Beauchamp, looking up, saw two slim
figures in white, and in another minute she was confronted by two pairs
of the very brightest and most daring black eyes she had ever seen.
Without a moment's hesitation Dot hurled herself against the slight
figure in the hall, and began a confused, breathless, incoherent
statement. "I could not sleep. Neither of we have slept all night. Susie
said she knew about the tides; she said she was quite certain"--most
familiar words in Mrs. Beauchamp's ears--"that she would get home all
right. But Dick had hurt his foot, and we left her on the rocks, sitting
quite in a pool. And it has rained so ever since; and perhaps she is on
the rocks still, and it is pitchy dark, and both of we feel as if we
couldn't bear it."
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."
Mrs. Beauchamp obeyed mechanically. She seemed to feel new life, a sense
of protection, an atmosphere of help; there was some one else to command
and to decide.
The last sight she saw as she went out into the night was Dot's fuzzy
head leaning over the banisters at a dangerous angle.