Pauline and Verena found Miss Tredgold waiting for them. They went into the shop, which was quite one of the best shops in the High Street. There Miss Tredgold asked to see hats, and presently the two girls and their aunt were absorbed in the fascinating occupation of trying on new headgear. Miss Tredgold was buying a very pretty hat for herself also. It was to be trimmed with lace and feathers, and Verena had a momentary¹ sense of disappointment that she was to have nothing so gay to wear on her own head. The attendant who was serving them made a sudden remark.  
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, “this little brown hat trimmed with velvet² will exactly suit the dark young lady.” Here 159she looked at Pauline. “And I should venture to suggest a very little cream-colored lace introduced in front. The autumn is coming on, and the young lady will find this hat very suitable when the weather changes.”
 
“Well, the weather seems inclined to remain fine,” said Miss Tredgold, glancing out of the window, where a very blue sky met her gaze. There were heavy white clouds, however, drifting quickly across the sky, and the young shop attendant said:
 
“I hear that there’s a storm expected. And anyhow it is high-tide to-night. The tide will come up and quite cover the White Bay this evening. It is always more or less dangerous there, but it is specially³ dangerous to-day. I never like these high-tides; children and nursemaids are so apt to forget all about them.”
 
Miss Tredgold muttered something conventional. Pauline suddenly sat down on a chair.
 
“How white you are, dear!” said Miss Tredgold. “Would you oblige me,” she added, turning to the attendant, “by bringing this young lady a glass of water?”
 
But Pauline had already recovered herself.
 
“Please don’t,” she said. “I want to go out. I want to get the air. Don’t—don’t keep me.”
 
Her movement was so sudden and so unexpected that neither Miss Tredgold nor Verena had time to say a word. The people in the shop saw a somewhat untidy-looking little girl rush wildly down the stairs and out of doors, and long before Miss Tredgold had time to recover her scattered⁴ senses that same little girl was tearing as though on the wings of the wind up the High Street. Panting, breathless, overpowered with emotion, she presently reached the long flat stretch of beach at the farther end of which was the dangerous White Bay. Never in all her life had Pauline run as she did now. Faster and faster flew her feet. There was a noise in her ears as though something was hammering on her brain. She was almost faint with terror. Should she be in time? Should she be too late? Oh! she must be in time.
 
Presently she saw the far end of the promontory⁵. Her heart gave a bound and almost stood still. What was that white thing curling round it? Water? Oh, yes; but she did not mind. She had waded⁶ before now. This was a case of wading⁷ again. She reached the spot, and a moment later she had torn off her shoes and stockings, had gathered her skirts round her waist, and was walking through the waves. The water was already over a foot deep. There was also a strong tide, and she had some difficulty in keeping her feet. She managed to hold her own, however, and found herself a minute or two later, drenched⁸ all over, panting and trembling, but still safe in the White Bay. To her relief, she saw three terrified children crouching⁹ up as 160near as they dared to the water. Even now a great wave, deeper and stronger than its predecessors¹⁰, rolled in. It took Pauline off her feet just as she was clambering to dry ground. She recovered herself, ran up to Pen, took her hand, and said:
 
“We have played pickaback before now. Get on my back this moment; don’t stop to think.”
 
“I daren’t,” said Pen.
 
“Little boy—I don’t know your name,” said Pauline—“put Pen onto my back whatever happens.”
 
Harry¹¹ Carver sprang towards Pen.
 
“You must,” he said. “She is brave; she is a true heroine. The lions and tigers would love her. Get on her back and she will return for us. Oh! be quick—do be quick—for we don’t any of us want to be drowned.”
 
“Can you swim?” asked Pauline. “No; I know you can’t. I haven’t a moment to stay; I’ll come back somehow.”
 
She struggled towards the water, but Pen scrambled¹³ off her back and stood firm on the ground.
 
“I am bad,” she said—“there never was anybody much badder—but I’m not going first. Take that little girl; I will go afterwards.”
 
“Come, little girl,” said Pauline.
 
Harry rushed towards his sister.
 
“Do go, Nellie. Let mother keep one of us. I don’t mind being drowned—not a bit. You tell mother I don’t mind. Go, Nellie; do go with the big brave girl.”
 
So Pauline carried Nellie through the rising tide, and, marvellous to relate, did land her safely on the other side.
 
“Now look here,” she said, “you must rush home as fast as you can, and when you get there you are to say that there are two girls and a boy in the White Bay, and that your people are to bring a boat immediately. Don’t waste a second. Find somebody. If all your people are out, go to ours. Our house is No. 11. You understand? There isn’t a minute to lose.”
 
“Yes, see you go,” shouted Harry Carver. “And if you are too late, be sure you tell mother that I wasn’t afraid to drown.”
 
Nellie Carver began to run as fast as she could across the sands. Pauline hesitated for a moment; then she deliberately¹⁴ waded back to the other two. The water was up to her waist now, and she had the greatest difficulty in keeping her feet.
 
“I couldn’t face anybody again if Pen were drowned,” she said to herself. “If she drowns, so will I. It is the only thing fit for me. Perhaps when God sees that I am sorry, and that I did try to save Pen, He will forgive me; but I am not sure. Anyhow, I deserve to be drowned. I could never, never face the others if Pen were to die because of me.”161
 
She was just able to scramble¹² again out of the water on the White Bay side. The tide was coming in with great rapidity. It was hopeless to think of carrying Pen across.
 
“Let us go to the top part of the bay, as close to the rocks as possible,” said Pauline; “and don’t let’s be really frightened, for I am sure the boat will be in time.”
 
“Oh, I am certain of it!” said Harry. “Nellie never does lose her head. She won’t want us to drown, so she’ll hurry up.”
 
“Give me your hand, Pen,” said Pauline. “You are a very brave little girl to let the other little girl go first. I am glad you did it.”
 
“Will God remember that about me by-and-by?” asked Pen.
 
“I hope so,” replied Pauline, with a shiver.
 
She took Pen’s icy hand and began to rub it.
 
“It isn’t at all good for you to shiver like this,” she said. “Here is a bright piece of sunshine. Let us run up and down in the sunshine. It doesn’t seem, somehow, as though anybody could drown when the sun shines.”
 
“Maybe the boat will be in time,” said Harry.
 
They ran up and down for some time, and then stood quiet. Pauline was very silent. Beside the other two children she felt quite old and grown-up. She had got Pen into this terrible scrape; it was her mission to help them both. If they must all die, she at least would have to show courage. She was not ready to die. She knew that fact quite well. But she had naturally plenty of pluck, and fearful as her present surroundings were, she would not have been afraid but for that ugly black thing which rested on her conscience. Penelope looked full into her face. There was something also pricking¹⁵ Penelope’s conscience. The three children stood close together on the little white patch of sand which had not yet been covered by the waves. The wind was getting up, and the waves were mounting higher; they rushed farther and farther up the bay, and curled and swept and enjoyed themselves, and looked as though they were having a race up the white sands. Pauline made a rapid calculation, and came to the conclusion that they had about half-............