idea was received with acclamation by Olive, on account of variety, also
by Amethyst, who thought any other means would be preferable to the
last.
"There's no other way nearer the caves," said Olive, as her glance swept
the dangerous-looking rocky cliffs, which seemed to be almost
perpendicular. "But perhaps if we go a little further on we shall find
some better steps."
They walked along the sands some little distance, eagerly scanning the
cliffs, but alas! no other steps were to be seen anywhere. However, the
cliff seemed to be more sloping, and not quite so forbidding-looking,
and Olive declared that she could see what looked like a pathway,
running zig-zag upwards.
"Let's try it," she said, and leading the way, she began scrambling up
the rocky cliff.
Monica followed suit, and Amethyst, determined not to be thought
cowardly again, tried her very hardest to keep up with them. But,
partly on account of her being smaller and a little more nervous than
the others, and also because they had thoughtlessly rather than
intentionally left her to carry the bundle of shells, she made very slow
progress.
Thus it came to pass that she had got a very little way up the steep
incline, when a cry of fear, and a quantity of loose sand, and small
rocky stones, falling about her, made her look up in alarm. Monica and
Olive had managed, by hook or by crook, to get within fifteen or twenty
feet of the top of the cliff, but a false footing had caused Olive to
slip; a projection which she had imagined to be firm hard rock, and to
which she had trusted her whole weight, having crumbled away beneath
her, and she had gone slipping down with it!
"Oh!" Amethyst's eyes grew round with terror, and she felt rooted to
the spot; suppose Olive should go on falling all the way down. How
dreadful it would be, and no one near to help do anything!
Monica, separated from her friend by several feet of crumbling cliff,
tried her hardest not to lose her nerve, but an irresistible feeling
came over her that, if once she looked back, she must fall, too.
"Are you hurt, Ollie?" she called out, while she clung to a tuft of
grass which happened to be near, and tried to steady herself. But no
answer came, and fearing she knew not what she looked down the cliff.
"Oh! Ollie, have you hurt yourself?" she cried again, in an agony of
fear, for Olive looked so white and strange, half-standing, half-lying
on a sloping bit of rock.
"I--don't--know." The answer came back, slowly, this time, in tones so
unnatural that Monica shuddered and grew cold. What had happened to
Olive that she should speak and look like that? Supposing she should
faint, then all chance of getting her either up or down would be at an
end. Monica did not know that her friend was simply paralysed with
fear, and for the time being could neither speak nor move.
"Try to hold on, Ollie dear, and I'll come down to you," said the elder
girl bravely, although she well knew that it was certain danger to
attempt to descend that shifting, crumbling portion of cliff.
"Amethyst," she called out to the shivering child below, "try to get
down, and run as hard as ever you can to the bottom of the cliff, where
the others are, and shout to them to come."
Slipping and sliding, Amethyst reached terra firma once more, and set
off running as fast as her trembling legs would carry her; and Monica
began her perilous task.
"O God," she whispered, aloud, in her dire extremity, "do help me now!
Do keep Olive safely, and let me reach her, and oh, please send some one
to help us quickly!"
She did not know what made her pray, but some unseen power impelled her
to utter those few short words in her agony of helplessness and fear;
and even as the words died on her lips she felt a peculiar sensation of
calm stealing over her, and her hands and feet seemed to be guided to
just the places which would hold.
A few moments, and she had reached Olive's side, and steadying herself
upon a small, but firm piece of rock, she put her arm tenderly round her
companion's waist, and begged her to tell her if anything serious was
the matter.
"Oh, Monica!" Olive murmured, with a convulsive shudder which nearly
caused them both to lose their foothold, "I am so frightened! I looked
down as I fell, and it seemed as if I _must_ go rolling all the way down
to the bottom, and if I had.... Oh, Monica, I should have been killed, I
know I should!" And Olive burst into tears.
"Don't cry, dear," said Monica, soothingly; "if we can manage to hold on
until help comes, we shall be all right. I--have asked--God to let us
both be saved, Ollie," she added, in a lower tone, "and--I believe He
will."
"Oh, Monica," wailed Olive, as she clung to her friend, "I tried so hard
to pray when I felt myself falling, but I _couldn't_! And then I
remembered all I said last Sunday morning, and it seemed as if God was
punishing me for my wickedness, by giving me no more chance."
"I don't think He is like that," said Monica. "I think He loves us too
much. I am sure I have heard something about Him not wanting anybody to
perish. I am going to try to serve Him after this, Olive, so don't
persuade me not to, any more."
"Oh, I won't! I am so miserable. I would rather be good, too, but I
can't!" cried the unhappy girl, who had caught a glimpse of her real
self during those moments of agonised suspense.
"I will try to help you, dear, but I shan't know quite what to do
myself," said Monica; "but if God hears our prayers, and lets us get
rescued, it would be mean not to try to please Him after that."
"He may hear your prayers," was Olive's desponding reply, "but I _can't_
pray."
"Try, dear," whispered Monica, closing her own eyes, and asking once
again that help might be speedily forthcoming, for she did not feel as
if she could hold on much longer. But, even as she prayed, a voice
calling both their names came floating over the cliff, and Elsa's face,
white and strained, but with hope written all over it, looked down at
them.
"Hold tight, Monica and Olive, just for a minute more. Mr. Herschel is
coming down to help you."
And in a moment more, the young clergyman, his body encircled by a stout
rope, which was secured at the other end to the stump of a tree on the
cliff path above, climbed carefully but quickly down to them.
"Thank God, we were near at hand!" he said, as he realised the spent
condition both girls were in; "but you will soon be safe now."
"Please take Olive first," urged Monica, and Leslie, filled with
admiration for the pluck and unselfishness the girl displayed, made his
way cautiously to the summit, half-leading, half-carrying the almost
helpless Olive, the rope which was slowly pulled up as he neared the
top, affording him a sense of security.
It was the work of a very few moments to lay his burden down upon the
short heather, to be tenderly cared for by Elsa, and to return for her
companion. Marcus eagerly suggested that he should take a turn, but
Leslie waved him back, saying: "No, no, Drury; you do the holding,
that's the hardest, really," and was scrambling down again before he
could be gainsaid.
"Your friend is safe," he said, as he reached Monica's side, and at his
words a tinge of colour appeared in her face, which was white even to
the lips, but quite calm. "You're not afraid to trust yourself to me?"
he added, more as an assertion than a question, for he had observed,
with satisfaction, that Monica had heaved a little sigh of content as
she felt herself supported by his strong arm.
"No, oh! no," she whispered, and a smile, pathetic in its wanness,
illumined the girlish features, causing the young clergyman's heart to
beat strangely, in a fashion hitherto unknown to him. Then she nerved
herself for the necessary climb, which was accomplished in silence, and
neither of the couple was sorry when the brow of the cliff was
eventually reached in safety, and Marcus cried: "Bravo!"
"I can never, never thank you enough, Mr. Herschel," Monica murmured, as
Leslie gently pushed her to a heather-covered mound, and, bidding her
rest a bit, threw himself on the grass beside her.
"Please say no more," he entreated earnestly, "it was a mere nothing; I
have always been a climber. But I am afraid this afternoon's mishap will
cause you to have unpleasant recollections of Gullane Head."
A happy little smile played about Monica's lips. "No, indeed, I shall
always be glad----" she began, earnestly; but before she could finish
her sentence, Elsa, whose whole attention had been taken up by Olive,
came to express her delight at the happy ending to what had seemed an
almost unavoidable accident.
"How is Olive? I must go to her," said Monica, rising, vexed with
herself for having forgotten her friend, even for a moment.
"She is feeling more herself now," replied Elsa, "but I don't believe
she can walk a step, her legs tremble so, she says. And I don't know
how we shall get back to Mrs. Drury," and Elsa looked troubled.
"We'll manage that," said Marcus, cheerfully. "Come on, Herschel, let's
make a bandy chair, as the youngsters call it, and carry her between
us."
Olive demurred feebly, but it was very palpable when she tried to stand
that she was far too exhausted to walk, so without more ado the two
young men bore her off, Monica and Elsa bringing up the rear.
The former was glad to slip her arm in Elsa's, for she felt surprisingly
shaky, and as they walked along the heather-grown cliff path, Monica
learned how it was that Elsa had procured help; a question she had been
longing to ask.
It was soon explained--Elsa, going in search of the belated trio, had
met Marcus and his friend leisurely strolling along the cliff, but not
near enough to the edge to see what was happening. Fearing she knew not
what, but instinctively feeling that they were in danger of some kind,
Elsa told her fears to the young fellows, who at once proceeded to help
in the search.
With long strides they made for the cliff-side, in order to scan the
shore, and were horrified to see the perilous position the two girls
were in, less than twenty-five feet below them. A fisherman's little
shanty, presumably used in connection with lobster catching, close at
hand, was hastily ransacked, and a stout coil of rope produced with
intense satisfaction; and while young Herschel fastened on the rope,
Elsa had encouraged the girls with words of hope.
"What _will_ Mrs. Drury be thinking?" queried Monica, as they neared the
Gullane Caves, following closely in the wake of the young men, who were
still carrying their burden. "Oh, dear, what a lot of anxiety I do give
people!"
"I don't think you must blame yourself specially, Monica dear," said
Elsa gently; "you all seem to have agreed to attempt the climb
together."
"It didn't really look difficult; not anything like so bad as the steps
would have been to get up; and we should have reached the top all right
if Olive hadn't slipped and lost all her nerve. Oh, there are Mr. and
Mrs. Drury. They are looking _so_ worried," added Monica; "and Amethyst
has actually got up to them. How _did_ she do it?"
It was some little time before everybody knew just what had happened to
everybody else; but eventually all was explained, and expressions of
thankfulness were heard that the results were no worse than they were.
"I was getting dreadfully frightened about you all," said Mrs. Drury,
whose face still bore traces of the anxiety she had passed through,
"especially when Elsa had been gone some time. I was thankful to find
Mr. Drury close at hand; but I had no sooner told him what had been
happening during his absence, than we heard shouts, and descried
Amethyst down on the sands below, trying to tell us something, but what
it was we could not hear, on account of the wind. However, in a very
few moments Mr. Drury had gone down the steps and helped her up, and
just as she had made us realise the danger you girls were in, we were
immensely relieved to see the cavalcade approaching. It has been a
merciful escape." And Mrs. Drury shuddered as she thought of what the
result of their foolhardiness might have been, but for God's
providential care.
"Now, what shall we do for this girlie?" she enquired tenderly, as she
endeavoured to improve Olive's dishevelled appearance, without much
success, for both she and Monica were covered with sand, which no amount
of rubbing would remove from their clothes. "Shall we drive to the
coastguard station and get some tea; or will you have some lemonade and
cake that was left from lunch, and get off home as quickly as we can?
The waggonette is here."
All were unanimously of opinion that the second proposal was most to
their taste, and in a very short time the party set off homewards, the
horse, well knowing he had his head turned towards his stable, going at
a brisk trot.
Olive, whom they made as comfortable as they could with cloaks and a
large rug, seemed powerless to talk or exert herself in any way; indeed,
her lethargic attitude somewhat alarmed Mrs. Drury, who felt she would
be glad when Sandyshore was reached. But the motion of driving seemed
to have a soporific effect upon the exhausted girl, and with her head on
Elsa's shoulder she fell asleep, and did not awaken until the waggonette
pulled up at Rocklands.
"Are you very angry with me, Mrs. Drury?" Monica asked penitently,
during the homeward drive, for that lady had been very silent, and
Monica could not but feel that she was displeased with their rashness,
as indeed she was.
"Not more with you than the others, my dear," was the somewhat grave
reply.
"If you will forgive me this time, Mrs. Drury, I hope I shall not go on
being quite so troublesome to every one after this." Monica spoke with
a quiet decision and earnestness unusual to her.
Mrs. Drury, who, of course, knew nothing of the new and unwonted
thoughts passing through the mind of the girl beside her, was touched by
her remark, but thought it would be a good place to say a word of
caution.
"I daresay you do feel, now, as if you would not willingly cause trouble
and anxiety to your friends by your thoughtlessness, just as present.
But it is not enough to _mean_ well, Monica; we always fail to keep our
resolutions if we make them in our own strength."
Her eyes sought those of the girl who sat beside her, and something that
she read in them told her what had happened, even before Monica
diffidently whispered the good news.
The vicar's wife bent and kissed the earnest face, with glad tears in
her eyes, as she murmured: "May God bless and keep you always, my
child."
Amethyst, turning round from her seat on the box, where she had been
amusing the old coachman with her chatter, was amazed at what she saw,
and looked curiously at Monica. But her mother, merely saying quietly:
"Monica has some news to tell you another time," turned the conversation
into a fresh channel.
Elsa, who had caught a word or two now and then, as she sat silently
supporting her sleeping sister, flashed a radiant look at Monica, which
was acknowledged by a loving little smile; and the young girl's heart
was almost overwhelmed with joy at this fresh answer to prayer.
*CHAPTER XVIII.*
*"I EXPECT IT WILL BE RATHER SLOW AND--POKEY!"*
Olive, whose nervous system had received a severe shock, did not regain
her usual strength for some days, and in accordance with the doctor's
advice (for Mrs. Beauchamp had hastily sent for a medical man) was
compelled to take things very quietly during the remainder of their stay
at Sandyshore.
It was quite a new experience for the high-spirited, romping girl to be
cut off from the pursuits that they had all been accustomed to, and a
not altogether pleasant one. But at first she felt totally unable to
join Monica and Elsa at their bathing or tennis, and was only too glad
to lie in a deck chair on the sands, and watch the others engaged in
active exercise which she seemed to have lost the courage to enter into.
It was a very quiet Olive who was Mrs. Beauchamp's companion during
those days, and but for the doctor's assurance that she would soon
recover her usual robust health, both the old lady and Mrs. Drury would
have been very anxious about her. As it was, they all strove to cheer
and amuse her, as much as possible, and Monica and Elsa were untiring in
their devotion. They never alluded to the episode on Gullane Cliffs in
her hearing, as any reference to it seemed to revive the old, nervous
fear which had seized her at the time; but they often found her looking
with a sort of fascinated, and yet awestruck intentness, at the white
cliffs in the distance, which closely resembled those beyond the
lighthouse.
One day Olive broke through the reserve herself. Monica, who had been
bathing, was sitting beside her, her hair hanging dank and loose about
her shoulders, in order that the sun might dry it.
"Monica," she said, "you none of you ever say a word about _that day_,
but I am always thinking of it.
"Then I should begin to forget it at once," was the brusque reply. "It
is all over and done with, and there is no need for _you_ to remember
'that day,' as you call it, any more. As for me, I do not wish ever to
forget it." And a happy smile overspread Monica's sunburnt face.
"Oh, I know," interposed Olive hastily, who was afraid her friend would
open up the subject which she dreaded. "But even when I sleep, I always
seem to feel myself slipping down, down, down; and I only stop when I
wake. Oh, it is an awful feeling!" And the girl shuddered
convulsively.
"I am sure you could forget it if you made an effort to," was Monica's
apparently unfeeling reply. But she had overheard the doctor saying
something similar, and, to her strong-minded nature, Olive's fancy
seemed ridiculous. "You will never be well until you do."
Whether Monica's sensible advice had any effect upon Olive, or whether
she really was on the mend already, it would be difficult to say, but,
at any rate, it was noticeable that from about that time the improvement
in her was very marked indeed, and by the time their return to Osmington
drew near, she had become practically herself again. Mrs. Beauchamp was
extremely glad, as she would have been very sorry for either of her
charges to have gone home the worse, rather than the better, for the
holiday.
"Oh, dear!" sighed Amethyst dolefully, as the quartette ensconced
themselves for the last time in one of their favourite nooks, on a
grassy slope overlooking the bay--"oh, dear! I _am_ sorry to be going
home."
"So am I!" echoed the others, and Elsa added, "Except that it will be
just lovely to see mamma again."
"If it weren't for all of them at home," put in Olive, "I should like to
stay until school begins."
"We should find it rather dull," said Monica; "there would be no one
left but us, for the Drurys would be gone. I miss the Herschels
already, although they only went yesterday."
"You got so awfully friendly with them after the picnic," retorted
Olive.
"We all liked them," interposed Elsa, for she saw a little flush upon
Monica's cheek. "I think Miss Herschel was a dear; but, of course, she
would naturally be most friendly with Monica, because she is the eldest
of us!"
A grateful little squeeze told Elsa that Monica was pleased with her for
championing her cause, as she said softly, with far-seeing eyes, "I
shall always be thankful that I have known the Herschels, even if I
never see them again. They have helped me a great deal."
Olive, fearful lest the conversation should drift in a direction she
would fain shun, interrupted the silence that had fallen upon them, by
saying hurriedly, and with apparent enthusiasm: "I say, girls, what
about that missionary meeting we are invited to? When is it?"
"To-morrow afternoon."
"Shall we go? I expect it will be rather slow and--pokey."
"Why should it?" queried Monica, who was continually finding herself
differing from her friend, now-a-days.
"Oh, I don't know why, I'm sure; but missionary meetings are always dull
affairs. They read long reports, you know, and tell silly little tales
about goody-goody children, who would a hundred times rather put the
one, and only, penny they possess in a missionary box, than spend it on
themselves." And the girl laughed satirically.
"Oh, Olive!" expostulated Elsa, while Amethyst opened her eyes to their
widest proportions.
"Well, _I_ am going, anyhow," said Monica decisively, for whom, since
she had been influenced by Leslie Herschel, every thing of a missionary
nature had great attractions. "It will be my first experience of a
missionary meeting, so I am going to find out what it's like."
"So am I," echoed Elsa and Amethyst, and Olive was obliged to fall in
with the general opinion, as she did not care about being left out.
The meeting, to which the quartette, as well as many other girls among
the visitors, had been invited a few days previously, had been kindly
arranged by a lady living in Sandyshore, and was to be held on her
beautiful lawn the next afternoon. Only girls, of all ages, had received
invitations, and no grown-up people were expected to be present.
When the appointed time came, the hostess, a dear old lady of seventy or
more, whose heart, home, and purse were devoted to the cause of
spreading the gospel news, welcomed her young guests as they arrived,
and three, at any rate, of our party felt their hearts go out to her as
her kindly smile and gentle words greeted them. Olive, who felt
belligerent, prided herself on not being so easily won.
They found quite a number of girls, most of whom they knew well by
sight, from continual meetings on the sands or tennis-courts, already
seated on the chairs which had been carefully placed in a shady portion
of the lawn, and slipping into some empty places, they waited for
further developments.
Two ladies, standing under a pretty rose-covered verandah, were engaged
in conversation near a little table strewn with various books and
pamphlets; another had just taken her seat before a small harmonium,
while yet a fourth was handing round hymn-sheets.
"Which do you suppose is the speaker?" whispered Monica to Elsa, who was
next to her, "the lady in the nurse's uniform, or the one in black?"
"I can't tell, they both look so nice. The tall, dark one in mourning
looks clever; but I almost hope it will be the other, she looks so
sweetly pretty." And both girls looked admiringly at the fair, healthy,
girlish face framed in its dark blue bonnet.
Soon a hymn was given out, in which the twenty-five or thirty girls
joined somewhat shyly at first; this sort of meeting was an unusual
experience for the majority of them. But the easily caught-up tune,
sung so heartily by the lady helpers, inspired them, and by the time the
last verse was reached quite a volume of sound rose from the youthful
audience.
After a short, informal prayer, by the elder of the two ladies, which
was a revelation to Monica, who had never heard a woman's voice uplifted
in extempore prayer before, the girls sang another hymn; and then, after
a few explanatory words from the same lady, who they discovered was a
daughter of their hostess, the nurse stepped forward, and began to speak
in clear, ringing tones, which could be heard all over the lawn, and
which secured the attention of all.
"I was so very pleased," she began, "when Mrs. Murray asked me if I
would have a little 'talk' with some girl-friends of hers one afternoon
while I was staying with her for a few days in this delightful place.
And I will tell you why. First, because I love English girls; second,
because I love Chinese girls; and third, because I long to get the
former to become interested in their sisters with a pig-tail, in that
far-off land, behind the Great Wall.