veins in neck and temple
as she rose to her stroke. A tiny tendril of water-darkened hair
lifted and fell on her neck like a filament of seaweed on a polished
rock. Her eyes were very bright, and seemed larger than usual with the
strenuous joy of it all. The wonder of her beauty absorbed him. He
could hardly turn his face from it. He would have been content to go
on swimming so for ever.

But, glancing past the sweet face one time, he saw that they had gone
farther than he knew, and Scamp had turned long since and was yelping
towards the shore.

"Better turn now," he said quietly, and she floated for a moment's
rest, then turned and they headed for the shore, and Punch passed them
noiselessly.

They ploughed along in good cheer for a time, and then, of a sudden,
it seemed to him that they were making but poor progress.

He fixed his eyes on a rock on the shore and swam steadily on.

They had been opposite it. Twenty strokes, and the rock, instead of
facing them, had swung slowly to the north. They were making less than
no progress. They were drifting. They were in the grip of a current
that was carrying them towards the black fangs of Pointe la Joue.

A cold sweat broke out among the sea-drops on his brow. Pointe la Joue
is an ill place to land, even if they could make it, and the chances
were that the current would carry them past.

How to tell her without undue upsetting? A panic might bring disaster.

He looked round at her. The bright face was high and resolute. She was
not aware of the danger, but from that look on her face he did not
think she would go to pieces when he told her.

The rock he had been watching stood now at an angle to their course.

"Are you tired, Meg?" he asked.

"I'm all right."

"Turn on your back and float for a minute or two," and he set the
example, and Punch saw and came slipping back to them.

"We're in a cross current," he said quietly. "And we're making no
way--"

"I know. I was watching a rock on the shore. What's the best thing to
do?"

"We'll rest for a few minutes and then go with the tide round Pointe
la Joue. We can land in Vermandes. You're not cold, are you?"

"Not a bit."

When he lifted his head the Coupee was shortened to a span, and the
southern headland folded over it as he looked. They were drifting as
fast as a man could walk at his fastest. They were abreast the black
rocks of La Joue.

"Now, dearest, a little spurt and we shall be in the slack.