Part 57 (2/2)

Lady Bude was silent.

Mr. Macrae returned. 'Benson has come back,' he said, 'to say that he can find no trace of them. The other men are still searching.'

'Can they have had themselves ferried across the sea loch to the village opposite?' asked Merton.

'Emmiline had not the key of our boat,' said Mr. Macrae, 'I have made sure of that; and not a man in the village would launch a boat on Sunday.'

'We must go and help to search for them,' said Merton; he only wished to be doing something, anything.

'I shall not be a minute in changing my dress.'

Bude also volunteered, and in a few minutes, having drunk a gla.s.s of wine and eaten a crust of bread, they and Mr. Macrae were hurrying towards the cove. The storm was pa.s.sing; by the time when they reached the sea-side there were rifts of clear light in the sky above them. They had walked rapidly and silently, the swollen stream roaring beneath them. It had rained torrents in the hills. There was nothing to be said, but the mind of each man was busy with the gloomiest conjectures. These had to be far- fetched, for in a country so thinly peopled, and so honest and friendly, within a couple of miles at most from home, on a Sunday evening, what conceivable harm could befall a man and a maid?

'Can we trust the man?' was in Merton's mind. 'If they have been ferried across to the village, they would have set out to return before now,' he said aloud; but there was no boat on the faint silver of the sea loch.

'The cliffs are the likeliest place for an accident, if there _was_ an accident,' he considered, with a pang. The cliffs might have tempted the light-footed girl. In fancy he saw her huddled, a ghastly heap, the faint wind fluttering the folds of her dress, at the bottom of the rocks.

She had been wearing a long skirt, not her wont in the Highlands; it would be dangerous to climb in that; she might have forgotten, climbed, and caught her foot, and fallen.

'Blake may have s.n.a.t.c.hed at her, and been dragged down with her,' Merton thought. All the horrid fancies of keen anxiety flitted across his mind's eye. He paused, and made an effort over himself. There _must_ be some other harmless explanation, an adventure to laugh at--for Blake and the girl. Poor comfort, that!

The men who had been searching were scattered about the sides of the cove, and, distinguis.h.i.+ng the new-comers, gathered towards them.

'No,' they said, 'they had found nothing except a little book that seemed to belong to Mr. Blake.'

It had been discovered near the place where Merton and Lady Bude were sitting on the previous evening. When found it was lying open, face downwards. In the faint light Merton could see that the book was full of ma.n.u.script poems, the lines all blotted and run together by the tropical rain. He thrust it into the pocket of his ulster.

Merton took the most intelligent of the gillies aside. 'Show me where you have searched,' he said. The man pointed to the sh.o.r.es of the cove; they had also examined the banks of the burn, and under all the trees, clearly fearing that the lost pair might have been lightning-struck, like the nymph and swain in Pope's poem. 'You have not searched the cliffs?'

asked Merton.

'No, sir,' said the man.

Merton then went to Mr. Macrae, and suggested that the boat should be sent across the sea ferry, to try if anything could be learned in the village. Mr. Macrae agreed, and himself went in the boat, which was presently unmoored, and pulled by two gillies across the loch, that ran like a river with the outgoing tide.

Merton and Bude began to search the cliffs; Merton could hear the hoa.r.s.e pumping of his own heart. The cliff's base was deep in flags and bracken, then the rocks began climbing to the foot of the perpendicular basaltic crag. The sky, fortunately, was now clear in the west, and lent a wan light to the seekers. Merton had almost reached the base of the cliff, when, in the deep bracken, he stumbled over something soft. He stooped and held back the tall fronds of bracken.

It was the body of a man; the body did not stir. Merton glanced to see the face, but the face was bent round, leaning half on the earth. It was Blake. Merton's guess seemed true. They had fallen from the cliffs! But where was that other body? Merton yelled to Bude. Blake seemed dead or insensible.

Merton (he was ashamed of it presently) left the body of Blake alone; he plunged wildly in and out of the bracken, still shouting to Bude, and looking for that which he feared to find. She could not be far off. He stumbled over rocks, into rabbit holes, he dived among the soaked bracken. Below and around he hunted, feverishly panting, then he set his face to the sheer cliff, to climb; she might be lying on some higher ledge, the shadow on the rocks was dark. At this moment Bude hailed him.

'Come down!' he cried, 'she cannot be there!'

'Why not?' he gasped, arriving at the side of Bude, who was stooping, with a lantern in his hand, over the body of Blake, which faintly stirred.

'Look!' said Bude, lowering the lantern.

Then Merton saw that Blake's hands were bound down beside his body, and that the cords were fastened by pegs to the ground. His feet were fastened in the same way, and his mouth was stuffed full of wet seaweed.

Bude pulled out the improvised gag, cut the ropes, turned the face upwards, and carefully dropped a little whisky from his flask into the mouth. Blake opened his eyes.

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