They ploughed along in good cheer for a time, and then, of a sudden, it seemed to him that they were making but poor progress. He fixed his eyes on a rock on the shore and swam steadily on. They had been opposite it. Twenty strokes, and the rock, instead of facing them, had swung slowly to the north. They were making less than no progress. They were drifting. They were in the grip of a current that was carrying them towards the black fangs of Pointe la Joue. A cold sweat broke out among the sea-drops on his brow. Pointe la Joue is an ill place to land, even if they could make it, and the chances were that the current would carry them past. How to tell her without undue upsetting? A panic might bring disaster. He looked round at her. The bright face was high and resolute. She was not aware of the danger, but from that look on her face he did not think she would go to pieces when he told her. The rock he had been watching stood now at an angle to their course. "Are you tired, Meg?" he asked. "I'm all right." "Turn on your back and float for a minute or two," and he set the example, and Punch saw and came slipping back to them. "We're in a cross current," he said quietly. "And we're making no way--" "I know. I was watching a rock on the shore. What's the best thing to do?" "We'll rest for a few minutes and then go with the tide round Pointe la Joue. We can land in Vermandes. You're not cold, are you?" "Not a bit." When he lifted his head the Coupee was shortened to a span, and the southern headland folded over it as he looked. They were drifting as fast as a man could walk at his fastest. They were abreast the black rocks of La Joue. "Now, dearest, a little spurt and we shall be in the slack. If you get tired, tell me," and they struck out vigorously on a shoreward slant in the direction they were going. There should have been a backwater round the corner of Vermandes. He had counted on it. And there was one, but so swift was the rush of the tide round the out-jutting rocks of La Joue, that for some minutes, as they battled with the rough edge of it, it was touch and go with them. At a word from her his arm would be at her service. But she fought bravely on, and could admire Punch's graceful action even then. The waves smacked her rudely in the face. Great writhing coils came belching up from below and burst under her chin and almost swamped her. One, as strong as a snake, rose suddenly under her, flung her off her stroke, rolled her over, made her for a moment feel utterly helpless. "Jock!" He had been watching her closely. His arm flashed out in front of her. "Grip!" and she hung on to it and it felt like a bar of steel. "Now!"--when she had recovered herself somewhat. "Grip the top of my suit."--She hooked her fingers into it and he struck out through the turmoil.