“Whistling,” corrected Chris; “I can’t sing.  What on earth has happened?  Are you hurt?”

“No, no!  It is nothing—­a bagatelle.  Ah, but you have found the good Cinders!  I am rejoiced indeed!”

“Yes, he came to me—­ages ago.  It is you I have been waiting for all this time.  I thought you were never coming.  At least, of course, I knew you would come; but oh”—­with a great sigh—­“it has been a long time!”

“Ah, pardon me!” he said.  “But why did you wait?”

“Of course I waited,” said Chris.  “I said I would.”

“And you were not afraid?  No?”

He was standing close to her now, and Cinders was wriggling to reach and welcome him.

“Yes, a little,” Chris admitted.  “That’s why I whistled.  But it’s all right now.  Do let us get out.”

“Ah!” he said.  “But I fear—­”

“What?” she asked, with sudden misgiving.

He hesitated a moment, then, “The tide,” he said.

“Bertie!” For the first time Chris’s bravely sustained courage broke down.  She thrust out a clinging hand and clutched his arm.  “Are we going to be drowned—­here—­in the dark?” she said, gasping.

“No, no, no!” His reply was instant and reassuring.  He took her hand and held it.  “It is not that.  The water will not reach us.  It is only that we cannot return until the tide permit.”

“Oh, well!” Chris’s relief eclipsed her dismay.  “That doesn’t matter so much,” she said.  “Let us get out of this horrid little tunnel, anyhow.  Oh, darling Cinders!  He wants to kiss you.  Do you mind?”

Bertrand laughed involuntarily.  But she was droll, this English child!  Was it possible that she did not realize the seriousness of the dilemma in which she found herself?  Well, if not—­he shrugged his shoulders—­it was not for him to enlighten her.  As comrades in trouble they would endure their incarceration as bravely as they might.

There was a faint spice of enjoyment in Chris’s next remark:  “Well, we are all together, that’s one thing, and we’ve got the cake for supper, if we can only find it.  Will you go first, please, so that I can hold on to you.  It will be nice to see the light again.  What happened to the lantern?  Did you drop it?”

“I fell,” he said.  “I thought that I heard the good Cinders in front of me, and I ran.  I tripped and struck my head.  It stunned me. Apres cela, I lay—­depuis longtemps—­insensible till I awoke and heard you singing so far—­so far away.”

“Whistling,” said Chris.

“I thought it was a bird at the dawn,” he said, “flying high in the sky.  And I lay and listened.”

“My dear chevalier, you wanted shaking,” she interposed, with pardonable severity.  “Are you sure you are awake now?  Oh, look!  There is a ray of light!  How heavenly!  But why didn’t you relight the lantern?”

“It was broken,” he said, “and useless.  Also I found that I had only three matches.”