Twenty-four hours later Hugh Durant stood on the sandy shore and tapped
with his crutch on the large, flat stone that was set for a step on the
threshold of the little, wooden cottage behind the sand dunes.

He had reached the place with much difficulty, persevering with a
doggedness characteristic of him; and there were great drops on his
forehead though the afternoon was cloudy and cool.

A quick step sounded in answer to his summons, and in a moment his
hostess appeared at the open door.

"Why didn't you come straight in?" she said hospitably.

She was dressed in lilac print. Her sleeves were turned up to the
elbows, and she wore a big apron with a bib. He noticed that her feet
were no longer bare.

He took off his hat as he answered.

"Perhaps I might have been tempted to do so," he said, "if I had felt
equal to mounting the step without assistance."

"Oh!" She pulled down her sleeves hastily. "Will you let me help you?"
she suggested shyly.

Durant's eyes were slightly drawn with pain. Nevertheless they were very
friendly as he made reply.

"Do you think you can?" he said.