Part 7 (2/2)

Arrived at the sh.o.r.e, she turned in the direction she usually took when up above, and walked quickly along the firm smooth sand; pausing occasionally to pick up a beautifully marked stone, or to examine a brilliant sea-anemone or gleaming jelly-fish, left stranded by the tide.

Presently she reached a place where the cliff jutted out toward the sea; and, climbing over slippery rocks, studded with s.h.i.+ning pools in which crimson seaweed waved, crabs scudded sideways from her pa.s.sing shadow, and darting shrimps flicked across and buried themselves hastily in the sand, Myra found herself in a most fascinating cove. The line of cliff here made a horseshoe, not quite half a mile in length. The little bay, within this curve, was a place of almost fairy-like beauty; the sand a soft glistening white, decked with delicate crimson seaweed. The cliffs, towering up above, gave welcome shadow to the sh.o.r.e; yet the sun behind them still gleamed and sparkled on the distant sea.

Myra walked to the centre of the horseshoe; then, picking up a piece of driftwood, scooped out a comfortable hollow in the sand, about a dozen yards from the foot of the cliff; stuck her open parasol up behind it, to s.h.i.+eld herself from the observation, from above, of any chance pa.s.ser-by; and, settling comfortably into the soft hollow, lay back, watching, through half-closed lids, the fleeting shadows, the blue sky, the gently moving sea. Little white clouds blushed rosy red. An opal tint gleamed on the water. The moving ripple seemed too far away to break the restful silence.

Lady Ingleby's eyelids drooped lower and lower.

”Yes, my dear Jane,” she murmured, dreamily watching a snow-white sail, as it rounded the point, curtseyed, and vanished from view; ”undoubtedly a--a well-expressed sentence; but far from--from--being fact. The safely abstract could hardly require--a--a--a cameo----”

The long walk, the sea breeze, the distant lapping of the water--all these combined had done their soothing work.

Lady Ingleby slept peacefully in Horseshoe Cove; and the rising tide crept in.

CHAPTER IX

JIM AIRTH TO THE RESCUE

An hour later, a man swung along the path at the summit of the cliffs, whistling like a blackbird.

The sun was setting; and, as he walked, he revelled in the gold and crimson of the sky; in the opal tints upon the heaving sea.

The wind had risen as the sun set, and breakers were beginning to pound along the sh.o.r.e.

Suddenly something caught his eye, far down below.

”By Jove!” he said. ”A scarlet poppy on the sands!”

He walked on, until his rapid stride brought him to the centre of the cliff above Horseshoe Cove.

Then--”Good Lord!” said Jim Airth, and stood still.

He had caught sight of Lady Ingleby's white skirt reposing on the sand, beyond the scarlet parasol.

”Good Lord!” said Jim Airth.

Then he scanned the horizon. Not a boat to be seen.

His quick eye travelled along the cliff, the way he had come. Not a living thing in sight.

On to the fis.h.i.+ng village. Faint threads of ascending vapour indicated chimneys. ”Two miles at least,” muttered Jim Airth. ”I could not run it and get back with a boat, under three quarters of an hour.”

Then he looked down into the cove.

”Both ends cut off. The water will reach her feet in ten minutes; will sweep the base of the cliff, in twenty.”

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