The Foot of Time: A Novel of Australia and the South Seas: (1933)

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THE FOOT OF TIME
sand of Palm Beach with a fury not yet entirely
spent. The girl sat on the rocks, her legs dangling
in the swimming pool.
Her father and mother sat in their car, on the
road, at the end of the splendid firm sand, as near
the pool as the car could aspire. They were preparing
lunch against the time their one-and-only
chose to leave the enticing water.
The tide was nearly full, and Bruce noticed a
treacherous channel forming near the water's-edge.
He was taking his swim from the beach, and though
conversant with the difficult, but not impossible,
negotiation of currents, kept carefully clear of the
channel. It ran parallel to the shore for a short
distance, then curled south and east, heading
straight out to sea. Its direction took the smooth,
innocent, light-hued line of death past the swimming
pool.
Something about Edith Burne caught the
attention of the boy, if boy this enormous young
fellow may be called. It wasn't prettiness; the girl
was too pale to be noticeably attractive, but her
sweet, coquettish, smiling eyes, well-shaped features,
good figure, and clear skin made Edith what
the world calls a good-looking girl; so very often
better than being pretty. The girl also carried with
her an awareness of her sex, which at nineteen, as
at any age, is not without allure.
Swimming lazily near the shore, Bruce was looking
at her. It was not lost upon Edith. She perched
herself upon a rock, waited an unconscionable
time, then took a rather particularly well-schooled
THE FOOT OF TIME 59
header into the pool. The girl swam to the other side,
the side where the rollers were curling over the top,
the tide by this time being nearly in. Then following
supposed precedent, a seventh wave, nearly
twice the size of the six which had gone before it,
rolled into the pool and out again. But on its
bosom it carried Edith with it.
Bruce heard her give a waterlogged shout of
amusement, then, swimming cleverly to get clear
of the rocks, she headed for the shore. But the
current had her in its relentless hold, and instead of
progressing shorewards the girl was carried straight
out to the shark-infested sea.
For a few moments Edith f ailed to realise her
peril; then, swimming, as she thought, shorewards,
the girl noticed that, though making pace relatively,
the rocks were passing her, or she them, in the
wrong direction!
As though promenading along a vessel's upper
deck at four miles an hour sternwards, the vessel,
covering full twenty nautical knots, is yet bearing
you onwards at greater speed. The tide carried
Edith out at one rate while she battled against it
at another. The tide's pace was the greater, and—
and the sea was winning!
A scream of mortal fear mingled itself with the
roar of the surf, but here again the elements held
the upper hand, for no one could possibly hear it.
Bruce the lesser was, however, gazing at Edith
Burne, and that was fortunate for Edith; fortunate
for the nonce at any rate.
Swimming with a long, sweeping, arm over arm,