Part 67 (2/2)
”You may be right,” said Leslie, ”but I can't go back like this. Now, my lads, who's for going on?”
”All on us,” said the fisherman who had first spoken, and the boats separated to continue their hopeless task.
All at once there was a faint streak out in the east, a streak of dull grey, and a strange wild, faint cry came off the sea.
”There!” cried the detective; ”pull, my lads, pull! he is swimming still. No, no, more towards the right.”
”Swimming?--all this time, and in his clothes!” said one of the coastguard quietly. ”That was only a gull.”
The detective struck his fist into his open left hand, and stood gazing round over the glistening water; as the stars paled, the light in the east increased till the surface of the sea seemed steely grey, and by degrees it grew so light that near the harbour a black speck could be seen, toward which the officer pointed.
”Buoy,” said the nearest rower laconically, and the officer swept the surface again. Then there was a faint shade of orange nearly in the zenith, a flock of gulls flew past, and here and there there were flecks and splashes of the pale silvery water, which ere long showed the reflection of the orange sky, and grew golden. The rocks that lay at the foot of the huge wall of cliff were fringed with foam, and wherever there was a break in the sh.o.r.e and some tiny river gurgled down, a wreathing cloud of mist hung in the hollow.
Moment by moment the various objects grew more distinct; black ma.s.ses of rock fringed with green or brown sea-wrack, about which the tide eddied and played, now hiding, now revealing for some crested wave to pounce upon as a sea monster might upon its prey. The dark slaty rocks displayed their wreaths of ivy, and the ma.s.ses of granite stood up piled in courses of huge cubes, as if by t.i.tanic hands, grey with parched moss, dull and dead-looking; and then all at once, as the sun slowly rose above the sea, glorious in G.o.d's light, sparkling as if set with myriads of gems, the grey became gold, and all around there was a scene of beauty such as no painter could do more than suggest. Everything was glorified by the rising sun; sea, sky, the distant houses, and s.h.i.+pping, all gleamed as if of burnished gold--all was of supreme beauty in the birth of that new day. No, not all: here and there, slowly using their oars as they scanned sea and rock, sat a crew of haggard men, while back on the golden point cl.u.s.tered a crowd watching their efforts, and hanging back with natural kindly delicacy from the group of three at the extreme edge of the granite point--two pale-faced, grey, wild-eyed men, and the girl who sat crouching on a fragment of rock, her hair loose, her hands clasped round her knees, and a look of agonised sorrow in the piteous drawn face, ever directed towards the east.
”They're all coming back,” said some one close at hand.
The man was right; slowly one by one the boats crept over the glorious sea towards the harbour, Duncan Leslie's last.
”Nothing?” said Uncle Luke in a low whisper as the coastguard boat was backed toward the point, and the detective sprang ash.o.r.e.
”Nothing, sir. Poor foolish, misguided lad! Might have been my boy, sir. I've only done my duty; but this is a dark night's work I shall never forget. I feel as if I were answerable for his death.”
Ten minutes later Duncan Leslie landed in the same way, and laid his hand upon Uncle Luke's arm.
”I was obliged to come back,” he said; ”my men are f.a.gged out.”
”No signs of him!”
Leslie shook his head and spoke in a whisper.
”I'll be off again as soon as I can get a fresh crew, and search till I do find him. For Heaven's sake, sir, take them home!”
It was a kindly whisper, but Louise heard every word, and shuddered as she turned and hid her face in her father's breast. For she knew what it meant; it was to spare her the agonising sight, when the sea, according to its wont, threw something up yonder among the rugged stones, where, to use the fishermen's words, the current bit hardest on the sh.o.r.e. She fought hard to keep back the wild cry that struggled in her breast; but it was in vain, and many a rough fellow turned aside as he heard the poor girl's piteous wail out there in the suns.h.i.+ne of that glorious morn.
”Harry! brother! what shall I do?” George Vine's lips parted as he bent down over his child. ”The Lord gave, and--”
His voice failed, but his lips completed poor old stricken Job's words, and there was a pause. Then he seemed to draw himself up, and held out his hand for a moment to Duncan Leslie.
”Luke!” he said then calmly and gravely. ”Your arm too. Let us go home.”
The little crowd parted left and right, and every hat was doffed in the midst of a great silence, as the two old men walked slowly up the rough pier, supporting the stricken girl.
Duncan Leslie followed, and as they pa.s.sed on through the narrow lane of humble, sympathising people of the port, these turned in and slowly followed, two and two, bareheaded, as if it were a funeral procession.
Just then, high above the top of the grand cliff, a lark soared up, sprinkling the air as from a censer of sound, with his silvery notes joyous, loud, and thrilling; and one patriarchal fisherman, who had seen many a scene of sorrow in his time, whispered to the mate walking at his side--
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