THE CHILDREN ARE MISSING
BERYL little thought how near her father was to her when she held her
class on that eventful Sunday afternoon. Mr. Hollys had never been
known to come home without giving due warning to his household; but for
once, circumstances had led him to depart from his usual practice in
this respect.
Business of an unexpected nature had suddenly called him to Bristol at
the end of the week, and his business being accomplished by an early
hour on Saturday, it struck him as a happy thought, that since he was
half-way between London and Egloshayle, he might as well go on to the
latter place, and spend the Sunday there with Beryl.
How surprised the child would be at his unexpected arrival! That it
would be a glad surprise, he felt no doubt. His heart grew warm within
him at the thought of seeing his darling again that evening, and
hearing her joyous welcome.
But the plan which Mr. Hollys without further debate determined to
carry out did not prove so happy a one as he deemed it.
The express for Plymouth had started an hour earlier, and the train
by which he was obliged to travel was a slow one, stopping at every
station. Mr. Hollys thought he had never made so tedious a journey,
and his patience was severely tried, for, as it was market-day at
almost every town on the line, the train was continually delayed, and
when it reached Plymouth, half an hour after the appointed time, he
found to his vexation that the last train by which he could proceed to
Egloshayle had already gone.
Mr. Hollys thought that his plan had been a foolish one, when he
learned that there was not another train that would answer his purpose
till noon on the following day. He went to the nearest hotel, and
finding comfortable quarters there, tried to solace himself with the
anticipation of how amusing it would be to see Beryl's astonishment
when he suddenly and unexpectedly presented himself at home in the
middle of Sunday afternoon.
Mr. Hollys had ceased to feel any annoyance at the tiresome delay by
the time he reached Egloshayle the next day.
He was in excellent spirits as he alighted from the train at the little
country station. There was no conveyance to take him home, but he did
not wish for one. He felt that he should enjoy the long walk on this
bright summer day. He chose the longest path, which skirted the cliffs,
that he might enjoy the strong sea air to be breathed on those heights.
He thought, too, that by going this way he might perhaps surprise the
children in some nook on the beach. But as he climbed the steep hill
from the station he saw that the tide was high, and the waves breaking
turbulently at the foot of the cliff. Not a strip of beach was visible.
"Ah, well, I shall find them in the garden," he said to himself, as he
hurried on, eager to embrace his little Beryl.
Mr. Hollys had some news for Beryl, and he felt rather doubtful how
she would receive it. He had found a governess for her at last, a
highly-educated and accomplished young lady, whom his friend Mrs.
Everard could highly recommend. He believed he was doing the right
thing for his child in engaging this governess for her, yet in his
foolish fondness, he felt sorry to think how Beryl's freedom would be
curtailed and her actions restrained.
"Naughty little puss, she will not like it, I fear," he said to himself
with a smile. "After running wild like a young gipsy for so long, it
will be hard to settle down to regular lessons, and submit to rules and
regulations. But it is high time some one took her in hand. I ought to
have seen to it before; that letter was disgraceful."
Soon Mr. Hollys was within sight of his home. He looked about for the
children, but they were not visible. The house appeared quiet and
sleepy, as it stood with every blind closely drawn, in the glare of the
afternoon sun.
He walked round the garden, hoping to find Beryl there; but the place
seemed deserted. Then he entered the house by the glass-door leading
into the garden. The Sunday peace of the house was perfect. Not a sound
broke the stillness as he stood in the empty hall, and listened for the
children's voices.
The quietness made him uneasy. He hastily opened the drawing-room door.
The children were not there, and he quietly closed the door again,
without rousing his sister, who was taking her afternoon nap.
Mr. Hollys now ran upstairs to the nursery. Lucy, who sat there
reading, was startled at his unexpected appearance.
"Where is Miss Beryl, Lucy?" he demanded.
"Miss Beryl, sir?" said Lucy, looking scared. "In the garden, I
believe, sir."
"No; she is not, for I have just come through the garden," said Mr.
Hollys.
"Perhaps they are down on the beach, sir; they often like to sit there
on a Sunday afternoon."
"That is impossible, for it is high tide. Do you mean to say that you
do not know where they are?" demanded Mr. Hollys, with anger in his
tone.
"I cannot say exactly where they are, sir," said Lucy, growing more
frightened. "Miss Beryl likes to go away by herself, but I will find
them."
Lucy left the room, followed by Mr. Hollys, in whose heart, anger was
fast giving place to fear.
"You do not think they can have lingered in some corner of the beach
till they were overtaken by the tide?" he asked in a low tone.
"Oh no," answered Lucy, white and trembling; "Miss Beryl would know
better than that. She is very careful is Miss Beryl."
"You have no right to trust to her carefulness," returned Mr. Hollys
indignantly. "It is your place to look after them, and you should not
have trusted them out of your sight."
They went out of the house. Lucy turned to make further search in the
garden, and Mr. Hollys hastened along the road leading to the village.
Presently he met a child, and stopped to ask her if she had seen Miss
Beryl lately.
Yes, the child had seen Miss Beryl; she had something to tell him, but
Mr. Hollys, in his impatience, found it difficult to understand her
broad, Cornish speech.
He made her repeat her words again and again, till their meaning grew
intelligible. She had seen Miss Beryl on the beach that afternoon; she
had been in the cave with Miss Beryl and another young lady and several
children, and they had all been looking at a lovely picture.
As he thus made out the sense of her words, Mr. Hollys knew in a moment
what had happened. He turned from her, and ran at full speed towards
the group of fishermen who stood lounging against the low wall below
which the waves were beating. Joe Pollard saw him coming, and stepped
forward to meet him.
"Joe," said Mr. Hollys, as he came up white and breathless, "my little
daughter is missing. I fear she has been overtaken by the tide in the
long cave. Have you a boat at hand?"
A look of fear and pain crossed Joe's honest face as he heard these
words. Mr. Hollys could understand that look only too well. He knew
that Joe thought the children's fate already sealed, if indeed it was
as he feared, and the tide had surprised them in the cave.
"Ay, sir," he replied. "My boat is moored just below, and we can be off
in two minutes. But God grant you be mistaken, and the young ladies
safe ashore! I saw the other children come up from the beach an hour
ago, and I made sure the little missies had gone home too."
Joe led the way down the steps as he spoke, and in another minute they
were in the boat. Mr. Hollys seized an oar, and began to pull with an
energy stimulated by heart-sickening dread. Not a word was spoken as
they rounded the rocks, and made for the mouth of the cave. Already the
tide was on the turn, and so strong was the opposing current, that they
had great difficulty in effecting an entrance. When at last the boat
shot into the cave, they saw no sign of life there. The walls, lined
with wet and slimy seaweed, showed the height to which the water had
risen. It seemed clear that if the children had been there when the
waves burst in, they must have perished.
"Beryl, Beryl!" cried Mr. Hollys in despair; and the hollow roof mocked
him with a dull echo of his words.
Meanwhile Joe's quick eye had caught sight of a sheet of paper floating
on the surface of the water. He leant forward, and with his oar drew it
towards him.
"What is that?" asked Mr. Hollys, as he saw Joe take something from the
water.
Joe unrolled the paper, and handed it to him. Wet and stained though it
was, Mr. Hollys recognised it at once as one of the coloured pictures
he had purchased at Beryl's request. The sight of it seemed to confirm
his worst fear, and he dropped it with a groan.
"Joe," he said presently, as if clinging to hope in the very face of
despair, "Beryl could swim; is it quite impossible for her to have
escaped?"
Joe shook his head. He shrank from the thought of the pain he must
give, yet he spoke what he believed to be the truth. "I canna think her
swimming would help her much, sir. The rocks are sharp and steep here,
and she would need to swim a long way to find a dry footing. Besides,
there is a strongish undercurrent just here."
"God help me!" cried her father, shuddering at the thought of his
darling Beryl lying cold and dead in the depths of the sea.
For some minutes neither of them spoke, then Joe said gently, "We can
do no good by staying longer in the cave. Don't you think, sir, I had
better row you back to the shore? If it is as we fear, it is not here
that we shall find the young ladies."
And Mr. Hollys knew that Joe meant him to understand that if the
children were drowned, the swiftly-ebbing tide must have carried their
bodies far out to sea.
He could not speak; but the boatman took his silence for consent, and
without another word, rowed the still, sorrow-stricken man to the
landing-place.