accounting for
what any of that nation did! It was a lovely morning, and Barbara,
picking her way over the rocks, hummed gaily to herself, for it was an
excursion after her own heart.

Jean cast rather a doubtful eye from the rocks to the waste of sand in
front of them, but, seeing his companion did not hesitate, he could not
either, and stepped out boldly beside her.

"You see," Barbara explained, "it is really perfectly hard here, and we
will keep quite close to the footsteps that lead right out to that
other rock out there."

"But you are surely not going as far as that?" he inquired anxiously.
"We should never be back in time for coffee."

"I don't think so," Barbara returned gaily; "but we'll see how we get
on."

When once Jean saw that the ground was perfectly sound beneath their
feet, and that the footprints went on unwaveringly, he felt reassured,
and really began to enjoy himself. They turned round every now and
then to look back at the Mont, but decided each time that they had not
got quite far enough away to get a really good effect.

"You know," said Jean, some of his fears returning after a time, "one
usually has guides--people who know the sands--to take one out so far.
I trod on a very soft place just now."

"Keep near the footprints then," Barbara answered. "The tide hasn't
been up yet, and the sands can't surely change in the night-time. Just
a little farther, and then we will stop."

They stopped a few minutes later, and both declared that the view was
well worth the walk, the only thing that Barbara regretted being that
it was too damp to sit down and enjoy it at their ease.

"It _would_ have been nice to get as far as Tombelaine," the girl said
at last, turning from St. Michel to take another look at the rocky
islet farther out; "but I suppose we really must be going home again
now."

Jean did not answer her. He had turned with her towards the rock; then
his eyes had wandered round the horizon, and had remained fixed in such
a stare that the girl wondered what he saw.

"What is the matter?" she asked. "What is it you are seeing, Jean?"

"The sea," he gasped, his face becoming ashen. "Mademoiselle--the
tide--it advances--we will be caught."

Barbara looked across the long stretch of gray sand till her eyes found
the moving line of water.

"It is nearer," she said slowly; "but of course it always comes in
every day."

"Yes--but--to-day--I had forgotten--it is to be high tide-