ght an alarming story of a bog like a quick sand. La
Touche had blundered into it and he would have gone down only for his
companion. They had also said something about pot holes like shafts in
the basalt. She turned her mind away from these thoughts and passing her
fingers through her hair removed the comb which held it in a rough knot,
shaking it free to the sun and wind. She combed it with her fingers and
rearranged it and then looked again--nothing.

It came to her suddenly that though she were to sit there forever the
vigil would be useless, that Bompard had gone--never to return.

She reasoned with this feeling, and reason only increased her fears. It
was now noon, Bompard was not the man to go on a long expedition by
himself; he was too inactive and easy-going. No, something had happened
to him and he might at that moment be lying dead at the foot of some
cliff or he might have broken a leg and be lying at the foot of some
rock unable to move.

She rose up and came swiftly down to the beach. Reaching the caves she
found La Touche opening a tin. It was dinner-time.

"What has become of Bompard?" she asked. "Have you seen him since he
went off this morning over those rocks?"

"Bompard," replied the other, "Mon Dieu! How do I know? No, I have not
seen him, he is big enough to take care of himself."

"That may be," she replied, "but accidents happen no matter how big a
man may be. He has not returned--"

"So it would seem," said La Touche, who had now got the tin open and was
turning the contents on to a plate. "But he will return when he
remembers that it is dinner-time."

Her lips were dry with anger, there was a contained insolence in the
manner and voice of the other that roused her as much as his
callousness. His mind seemed as cold as his pale blue eyes. All her
mixed feelings towards him focussed suddenly into a point--she loathed
him; but she held herself in.

"If he has not returned when we have finished dinner," said she, "we
will have to look for him." She took a plate and some of the beef he had
turned from the tin and with a couple of biscuits drew off and taking
her place outside in the sun began her wretched meal. A rabbit that had
run out on the sands sat up and looked at her as she ate, then it ran
off and as she followed it with her eyes she contrasted the little
friendly form with the form of La Touche, the dark innocent eyes with
those eyes of washed-out blue, without depth, or, perhaps,