So, after another icy look at his unconscious back, she followed wordlessly in Brice's wake.
Now that he was on dry land again and on his way to the house where, at the very least, a stormy scene might be expected, the man's spirits seemed to rise, almost boyishly.

The blood was running again through his veins.

The cool night air was drying his soaked clothes.

The prospect of possible adventure stirred him.
Blithely he sought the shoreward entrance to the hidden path, by the mental notes he had made of its exact whereabouts when Bobby Burns had happened upon its secret.

And, in another half-minute he had drawn aside the screen of growing boughs and was standing aside for Claire to enter the path.
"You see," he explained, impersonally, "this path is a very nice little mystery.