“Yes,” he said, in a strong quiet voice. “I brought this on you, Richard; for you warned me and I overruled your warning, being sceptical without knowledge, which is the boast of fools. The man was mad, and I thought to control him with reason, having failed in that as in everything else. Now accursed shall I be in the eyes of my co-trustee, your dear uncle.” His mention of Uncle Jenico quite upset me again. “O!” I cried violently, “what do _you_ matter! If you drown, you’ve only yourself to thank. _He_ would have stopped my going, but I wouldn’t tell him anything about it, because I thought it was nonsense to be afraid. And now he’ll wait and wait, and we shall never come, and it will break his heart.” He stood before me, dripping wet, a most wretched, pathetic expression on his face. It was due less, I knew, to despair than to sorrow over my revolt against him. At the vision of it I was moved even against my will to remorse. “Well,” I said miserably, “I don’t want to put all the blame on you, though you might have given me credit for a reason. You don’t know what we know about the man, or his interest in shutting our mouths. I ought to have told you, perhaps; but the secret was saving for another who has more right to it. It doesn’t matter now. We only want to get out of this--Mr. Pilbrow, do you hear? O, please think of something! There must be a way! To stand here, and----” “Richard!” he cried, in great emotion. He half advanced, holding out his hand, then suddenly commanded himself, let it fall, and became in a moment a figure of passionless resolution. “You are right,” he said, dryly defining and articulating each word. “This is no time for recriminations. We must compose ourselves--must think. The way out of a trap is never the way in. That is where men waste themselves. Now, tell me: nobody knows of our coming here?” “Nobody,” I said, “nor saw us take the boat. There isn’t a hope of our being rescued from the shore. We can’t see it, even; and if _we_ could be made out here, who’s abroad to mark us? Besides, even if any one did, there’s bare time, even now, to put off and cover the distance before----” “H’mph!” he pondered, frowning and fondling his gritty chin. Then he turned to my friend. “How long have we?” he asked. Harry gave a desperate glance seawards. “Say an hour here--perhaps two, if we climbed the wreck. But there’s deep water between. Ah! you didn’t know that, did you? but there is--and you----” Joshua made a gesture of dissent. “No,” he said, “I can’t swim. Leave me out of the question. But you two can, I know. Why shouldn’t _you_ reach the shore?” Harry shook his head. “The tide’s running in, it’s true; but five miles, and in December!” He ended with a despairing shrug. “Very well,” said Joshua, so prompt and decided that he made us jump. “Then the wreck’s our one asset; and we’ll just go and see the best use we can make of it.”