The mate played round him for an opening. Out of the corner of his eye he saw The Girl groping about for the oar. He rushed in to end it with one crushing blow. But Wulf was ready for him and he was the cooler man. As the mate's axe came swooshing down straight for his shoulder and neck, his own swung round, caught the other full in the blade with its own stout back, and with a ringing click sent it flying, with such a shock to the arm that had held it that the mate believed it was broken. He ducked with an oath and disappeared into the fog. The Girl came panting up, her face all sanded with her fall, her eyes ablaze. "Did it reach you?" "Not at all. I'm all right." "The brute! I feared he would kill you." "He did his worst.... What were you going to do with that?"--the oar she had picked up. "I was going to smash him on the head with it, but I couldn't find it at first." "Two to one!" "I don't care. I'd have killed him if I could." "What about our water?" "It's all spilled." "We'll go back for more. He won't come back. I doubt if he'll find his axe in this fog. Which way now?" and he stood puzzling, for force of circumstance and much trampling of the sand had lost them their clue. "You cast round that way for the mark of the oar, but don't go far. I'll try this side. Call if you find." "Here!" she cried, almost at once, and he followed her voice into the fog and found her standing on the line. But so confused were they that even then they had not an idea which way to follow it. "Which way?" she asked, staring down at the groove under her feet. "This, I think.... I don't know," and he stood perplexed, "There is nothing for it but following it up and seeing where we come to." So they picked up their buckets, and he took the oar, and they set off again,--and came out at last, not on the green undergrowth which flourished round the ponds, but on the bare shore of the lake. "Now we know where we are at all events. Dare you stop here while I go back?" "No," she said with a shiver. "Come along, then!" and they turned and went back, and he discoursed of fogs as they went. "Nothing like a fog for absolutely confusing one's sense of direction. I've known people wander for hours on a common, round and round, quite unable to get anywhere. And one soon gets into a panic and common sense goes overboard." She had not had much experience of fogs, but expressed herself vehemently on the subject, and so they came to the ponds, and back, in time, to their raft. And Wulfrey was mightily glad to see it again, for the idea had been troubling him that Macro might have found it, and set it adrift, or gone off to their ship to find solace there for his discomfiture ashore. "I wonder where he's got to?" he said anxiously. "I don't care. I wish he'd get lost in the fog and never come back." "You feel strongly," he said, with a smile at her vehemence. "Yes, I like or I dislike, and both to the full."