All in a moment the mist blotted out everything, and he stopped short instantly. "It will shift," he said doggedly. "We must wait till it shifts." He knew well the evil record of that quaggy ground, and of the gleaming, sheening flats--the ruthless oozy flats which tell no tales. The birds which had filled the air with their clamour were silent. There was no sound except the whisper everywhere of lapping water, water stealing in round them on all sides, almost beneath their feet. The sound meant nothing to Annette, but Roger frowned. The tide was coming in. "The roke will shift," he said again doggedly. And it did. The tawny clouds, yellow where the sun caught them, drifted past them and parted. They saw the homely earth beneath their feet, the tiny pink convolvulus peering up at them. "Do you see that bunch of firs?" he said. "Yes." "Well, we've got to get there. We must run for it." They ran together towards it over the slippery sedge, and up the still more slippery turf. The sun came out brilliantly, and she laughed and would have slackened to look at the fantastic world sailing past her; but he urged her on, his hand gripping her elbow. And he was right. By the time they reached the trees they were in a dense white darkness, and the nearest fir whipped them across the face. Annette was frightened, and it was Roger's turn to laugh--a short, grim laugh, with considerable relief in it. "Ha! That's right," still holding her elbow tightly, and reaching out with the other hand. "We've fired into the brown and no mistake. Here's the middle tree. Two more this side. Then down. Mind your footing, and hold on to me." They slid down into a dry ditch--at least, Roger said it was dry. "And good luck, too," he said. "Made that ditch myself to carry off the snow-water. Awful lot of water off the bank in winter." He pulled her up the other side, and then stopped and felt about him. "The garden wall should be here," he said. "Empty house. Take shelter in it. Yes." He groped, and met with resistance. "Here it is." They stumbled slowly along beside a wall. "Lot of nettles, I'm afraid. Sorry, but can't be helped," as they plunged into a grove of them. "Here we are." His hand was on an iron gate which gave and opened inwards. She felt a house rising close above them. Roger relinquished her, with many injunctions to stand still, and she heard his steps going away along a flagged path. Annette was not country-bred, and she had not that vague confidence in her mother earth which those who have played on her surface from childhood never lose in later life. She was alarmed to find herself alone, and she shivered a little in the dripping winding-sheet of the mist. She looked round her and then up. High in heaven a pale disk showed for a moment and was blotted out. The sun!--it was shining somewhere. And far away, in some other world, she heard a lark singing, singing, as it soared in the blue.