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114 yards were uphill and very stony, but directly we got on to a level, and then on to a downward grade, we were wading, ankle-deep in water at every few yards. The rain had evidently fallen very heavily here too, and the close vegetation on either side, that helped to make the way so dark, added to the wetness.

But in spite of the darkness I went along at a sort of trot, using a stick as staff, for my ankle hurt so much that it seemed easier to “tripple” along like the Boer ponies in South Africa do than to go slowly and so be longer with my weight on it. And as we were all cold the others followed suit. So that it was not really very long before we arrived at Sandfly Point, where there is a hut for the boatmen and guides, and a telephone across the Sound to Sutherland’s. We waited there while Mr. Inspector tried to ring up Sutherland, the old man who lives at Milford and keeps the Accommodation House there. But Mr. Inspector rang in vain, and at last said that Sutherland evidently did not intend to turn out in his launch that night, and that we must trust ourselves to a rowing boat.

Now we had of course heard a great deal about the Sound at various times and from various sources. We knew that the “Waikare” went right in, quite near to Sutherland’s house; we had heard someone talking about “crossing the open sea at Milford Sound in a storm.” So it was not very extraordinary that Mrs Greendays and I had visions of the entrance to the Sound with surf and big waves breaking on a rocky shore. Equally of course those familiar with the place could not imagine the terrifying spectacle we had conjured up. And while the men were all busily engaged in preparing the boat and improvising lanterns Mrs Greendays and I, alone in the fire-lit hut, were acting a little curtain-raiser to ourselves.

She put her arm round my shoulder and pressed me to her, saying, almost tearfully,

“My dear child how shall I forgive myself if anything happens to you? If I have brought you all this way only to leave you, drowned, in this desolate place! Oh Mary!”

I turned and kissed her, laughing rather hysterically. “Why darling, nothing is going to happen! We have four men to look after us even supposing the boat does capsize, but it won’t, Dame Fortune is too artistic to let all the misfortunes come to us!”

“What do you mean, child?” she asked.

“Why, of course those sweetly unselfish creatures behind us are not going to have all the fun! I don’t know how big a place Sutherland has, but there are four of us, and judging by the accommodation along the road I expect there will not be many more bedrooms than that. If when they come to-morrow they find that we are in possession and ready to say “these beds are all engaged”? I have noticed that things are generally pretty even in the end. Rich people are ugly and cross, pretty people are poor but charming, nice women get horrible husbands, good husbands get”