"We have only to keep straight on," said Miss Gabriel. "Ye-es," said Mrs. Pope, less hardily. "I really think the gentlemen might have waited for us." "For aught they know," said Miss Gabriel, "it's a matter of life and death. And we cannot be more than two hundred yards from our own gates." "In my opinion," persisted Mrs. Pope, who was apt to turn peevish when frightened, "a man's first duty is to look after his own." "Is it?" snapped Miss Gabriel, herself no coward. "Well, you must argue that out with Mr. Pope, if you haven't made up your minds about it by this time. For my part, I never wanted a man to look after me, I thank the Lord." "It would have been more gallant, and that you must allow." Mrs. Pope stuck to her point (which is a capital thing to do in a fog), but only to let it go abruptly a moment later. "Besides," she added, "my new cap is no better than a pulp already. I can feel it. Sopping isn't the word." "Fiddlestick!" said Miss Gabriel. "You and your cap!" She, herself, was not frightened, only a little nervous. "If you ask me, it's better you were thinking of those poor souls out on the rocks yonder. Little enough they'll be thinking, just now, of such things as caps!" "Of course," hazarded Mrs. Pope, after they had groped their way forward for twenty paces or so, "if you are quite certain where we are----" "We are among the Islands," said Miss Gabriel, tartly, feeling the roadway with the edge of her shoe, for her sole had just encountered turf; "and this is one. My dear Charlotte, if you could refrain from bumping into me at the precise moment when I am standing on one leg----" "How can I help it, in this darkness?" whimpered Mrs. Pope. "Besides"--with sudden spirit--"if you want to stand on one leg, I shouldn't have thought this the time or the place." "T'cht!" said Miss Gabriel, striding forward with gathering confidence; but at the seventh stride or so a sharp exclamation escaped her, as she stood groping with both hands into the night. "What's the matter?" "It's a wall, I think.... I had almost run against it.... Yes, this must be the wall of Buttershall's garden." "Are you sure?" "Certain. We have been bearing away to the right; people always do in a fog." "Then if this really is Buttershall's garden--and I only hope and trust you are not mistaken--we can bear away from it to the left, on purpose, and then as likely as not we shall find ourselves going straight," reasoned Mrs. Pope, lucidly. "My dear Charlotte"--Miss Gabriel was within an ace of calling her a fool--"if this is Buttershall's garden----" "But a moment ago you were sure of it!" "And so I am. Very well then; since this is Buttershall's garden, we have only to hold on by the wall and go forward, and that will take us----" But here the wall ended, and the sentence with it. "Ai-ee!" "Are you hurt?... I said," asserted Mrs. Pope, desperately, and with conviction, "that one of us would break a limb before we finished."