"Which way?" she asked, staring down at the groove under her feet.

"This, I think.... I don't know," and he stood perplexed, "There is nothing for it but following it up and seeing where we come to."

So they picked up their buckets, and he took the oar, and they set off again,--and came out at last, not on the green undergrowth which flourished round the ponds, but on the bare sh.o.r.e of the lake.

"Now we know where we are at all events. Dare you stop here while I go back?"

"No," she said with a shiver.

"Come along, then!" and they turned and went back, and he discoursed of fogs as they went. "Nothing like a fog for absolutely confusing one's sense of direction. I've known people wander for hours on a common, round and round, quite unable to get anywhere. And one soon gets into a panic and common sense goes overboard."

She had not had much experience of fogs, but expressed herself vehemently on the subject, and so they came to the ponds, and back, in time, to their raft. And Wulfrey was mightily glad to see it again, for the idea had been troubling him that Macro might have found it, and set it adrift, or gone off to their ship to find solace there for his discomfiture ash.o.r.e.

"I wonder where he's got to?" he said anxiously.

"I don't care. I wish he'd get lost in the fog and never come back."

"You feel strongly," he said, with a smile at her vehemence.

"Yes, I like or I dislike, and both to the full."

The guiding-line led them safely home, and glad they were to get there, for the chill of the fog and the treacheries it held were enough to weigh down the staunchest of spirits.

x.x.xVI

Their experiences in the fog had occupied many hours, and the unusual strain had left them both somewhat lax and weary. By the time they had prepared and eaten their much-delayed meal, and were enjoying the after-rest, the thick whiteness outside had turned to chiller gray, and the comfort of a blazing fire was eminently agreeable.

Wulfrey closed the companion-doors and hatch, all except the narrowest crack through which the smoke could escape, lit his pipe, and lay at ease, watching the many-coloured tongues of the dancing flames and The Girl who sat gazing dreamily into them on the other side, and wondered how it would have been with them all if Macro's vicious blow had got home on his neck.

She was very good to look upon as she sat there in the flickering half-darkness. The gracious curves of her supple young figure transformed the bare little cabin into a Temple of Youth and Beauty.

The dusky glamour of her hair, the shadowy beauty of her dark soft eyes, the level brows and wide white forehead which gave such strength and dignity to her face--they all held for him an arrest and an appeal such as he had never before experienced.

She had made herself a robe out of a piece of the crimson silk they had brought over from the pile. It was hardly a dress, for it swathed about her in flowing folds rather than fitted to her. But he thought he had never seen so becoming a garment. It was sheer delight to lie and look at her.

But it was a sufficiently difficult problem that faced him. In his present state of mind, the mate seemed determined to make an end of him the first chance that offered. Was there any reasonable hope of a change for the better in him? Were they to live in a perpetual state of defence till one of them went under?--all the advantages of unscrupulous attack being left to the enemy. Was it reasonable? If not, what was to be done, and how?

The man had suddenly become a deadly menace. He was no better, in his unprincipled cravings, than a wild beast. If that girl fell helpless into his coa.r.s.e hands.... And she knew it and looked to him for protection.

And protection to the utmost of his powers she should have.... Was he justified in slaying the man? ... In view of the deadly intent of this latest attack he thought he was. But whether he could bring himself to it, if the chance offered, he was not by any means sure.... The deliberate killing of one's fellow was a serious matter.... In self-defence of course one was justified.... As to the law--it seemed as though the mate was right in his belief that they were destined to spend the rest of their lives--some of them at all events--on this bare bank of sand, where none ever came who could help it, and where no law but that of Nature obtained.... But there was a higher law. "Thou shalt not kill." ... Yes, it would be very much against the grain of his life and conscience, but it might have to be....

He sat up suddenly, listening intently.

"What is it?" asked The Girl, startled out of her own reverie.

He raised his hand for silence.

"I thought I heard a cry," and he got up, and went up the steps, and opened the door and stood there straining his ears into the clammy darkness. The fog lay thicker than ever. It was like listening into the side of a bale of raw cotton. The faint glow of the fire below died against the opaque wall in front. It could not have been seen a yard away.

The Girl stood on the stairs close behind him.

"I must have been mistaken," he murmured, "or perhaps it was a seagull,"--when, just below and almost alongside them, there came the violent sweep of an oar used as a paddle, and a wild spate of curses like the furious outburst of a panic-stricken brain.

Wulf slipped noiselessly down for his axe and stepped up on deck. If he went past, well and good. If he ran into them----

There came a sudden b.u.mp against the side of their ship and the sound of a fall on the raft.

"---- ---- ---- ---- ye, ye ---- ---- rotten old coffin! I've got ye at last, ---- ---- ----!" and right up out of the fog under Wulfrey's nose came two clammy black hands clawing nervously at the bulwark.

"You can't come aboard here, Macro," he said quietly. The grimy hands loosed with a startled oath and the mate dropped back on to his raft.

"----! That you again? ---- ---- ---- ---- you! I thought.... Then my ---- craft must be over there. ---- ---- ----! I'll do for you yet, my cully!" and the oar dashed into the water again and he cursed himself off into the darkness.

"You could have killed him," gasped The Girl at his side, through her chattering teeth.

"I could--but I couldn't."

"We shall have no peace while he lives."

"I fear not. Still--I couldn't cut him down in cold blood like that.

What would you have thought of me if I had done so?"

"I should have said you had done well."

"I know you better."

At which she shook her head. "You don't know what horrid thoughts whirl about in my mind. No man really knows what a woman thinks," and the frank dark eyes regarded him solemnly.

"I know you better than you do yourself."

"I doubt it," with another shake of the head. "But, even then, it might have been best,"--with a shiver--"It sounds horrible--but----"

He could understand all her feeling in the matter. In her place he would have felt just the same. The man was a hideous menace--to her especially--and there would be no security for them while he lived.

But all the same....

"Let us get back to the fire," he said quietly. "He won't come back tonight. Poor wretch, he's probably been paddling about all day looking for his ship and he's half crazed with it."

"I don't think I am bloodthirsty by nature," she said, with her hands pressed tight to her eyes, when she had sunk down before the fire again. "But I fear that man with all my soul, both for myself and you.

He will kill you if he gets the chance. If he kills you I shall kill myself. It is better that one should die than two."

"I agree, but I don't want to have the killing of him if I can help it."

"Killing is horrible," and she shivered again, "But being killed is worse ... and to fall into the hands of a man like that would be even worse still. What will be the end of it all?"

But that was beyond him, and their hearts were heavy over it.