Part 12

"You!" was the very unexpected reply; and that was all the information she could get, whereat she was all the more puzzled. She had noticed Mr. Herschel glance at her, while Monica was speaking; surely she had never told him of their conversation after the sermon! If so, perhaps he would be trying to get a talk with her; and Olive was filled with alarm at the idea, for her conscience had been accusing her very loudly. However, she determined not to give him an opportunity of speaking to her alone, by never leaving Monica for an instant, and, by that means, she congratulated herself she prevented any more conversation between him and her friend.

But Olive need not have been quite so scheming, for after the whole party had explored the caves, Mr. Drury and the two young men went off on a tour of inspection, leaving Mrs. Drury and the girls to amuse themselves close home.

Mrs. Drury's suggestion that they should all sit still for a little while and enjoy the beautiful view and delicious breeze after the darkness and dampness of the caves, was received with acclamation, Amethyst stipulating that she should tell them a story.

Her mother, who was accustomed to a request of that nature, demurred at first, but finally consented, and they were delighted with her racy account of a journey she had taken in her girlhood's days, when a terrific snowstorm had kept all the passengers imprisoned in the train, several miles from a station, for more than twenty-four hours.

Monica followed next, with some particulars of her early days in Burmah, culled rather from what she had been told than from what she actually remembered. And then Olive protested that she was tired of sitting still, and proposed a search for some way of reaching a piece of sand which could be seen at a little distance along the coast.

Amethyst and Monica were ready enough to go with her, but Elsa, who was no climber, decided to keep Mrs. Drury company; so the trio set off on their voyage of discovery.

"Do be careful, girls," pleaded Mrs. Drury, who was rather anxious, well knowing their zeal was apt to run away with their discretion; "and unless you succeed in finding either some steps, or a proper path leading down to the shore, you are on no account to go. I can trust you, Amethyst?"

"Oh, yes, mumsie! We'll promise to be awfully careful," the shrill treble voice called back, and a few minutes later the sight of a handkerchief waving in the breeze proclaimed the fact that a beaten track had been found; and the two who were left behind settled down to a cosy half-hour.

Elsa, who loved Mrs. Drury only next to her own mother, squeezed up close to her, and the vicar's wife put a protecting arm round the girlish figure, for she had a very warm corner in her heart for quiet, gentle Elsa. Then they had what was a delightful, helpful chat to the young girl, who confided all her hopes and fears about Monica and Olive to Mrs. Drury, and was encouraged to pray on, and look out for opportunity of service. The latter remark reminded Elsa of the young clergyman's text, and Roger's decision, and, from her own difficulties and anxious thoughts about her twin sister, she went on to speak of the future that now stretched out before her favourite brother.

"I think it is so splendid of him to want to be a missionary," and Elsa's face glowed with animation; "but I am afraid it will disappoint father a good deal, and poor mamma will be _very_ sad at the thought of his going so far away, but she will not let him know it, because she will be so glad for him to go, really. I suppose, if all is arranged, that he would not start for a year or two, would he, Mrs. Drury?"

"No, dear, I expect not."

"That will give mamma a nice long time to get used to it," replied Elsa contentedly. She was singularly childish in some things, and correspondingly sensible about others.

Mrs. Drury cast a shrewd glance at the bright young face, which was turned seawards, and sighed. She realised what even the elder Franklyns either could not, or would not, dream of, that the gentle, patient, invalid mother was fading slowly, but surely, away; and she knew that the happenings of even a year hence would have no power to bring either gladness or sorrow to Mrs. Franklyn, who by then would be in the presence of the King. But the twins had no idea of it, and as Mrs. Drury sat silently looking at Elsa, who was all unconscious of the terrible sorrow in store for them all, she wondered if she were wise in leaving the girl in ignorance, for she could imagine what the shock would be like, when the blow fell. She had talked the matter over with Mrs. Franklyn, who well knew upon what a slender thread her life hung, and had urged her to let her children be prepared for the inevitable; but their mother had pleaded their youth, and said it would be time enough later on to break the news to them, and Mrs. Drury had no choice but to be silent, although she did not agree with her friend.

Elsa, who had been indulging in the pleasantest daydreams, roused herself to find her companion beginning to look anxiously in the direction in which the girls had gone, for time was getting on, and they ought to have been returning by then.

"It is half-past three, Elsa," she said, and there was a ring of real concern in her voice; "it is careless of them to have been so long, for we must soon think about preparing for home. Can you see any signs of them? Your eyes are younger than mine."

But Elsa was obliged to confess that she could not, even though she mounted with some trepidation to the top of a huge boulder in order to get a more extended view.

"We would go and look for them," went on the vicar's wife, "only it is hardly safe to leave the bicycles, and all our things. I am vexed with them for staying away so long."

"Shall I run along the cliff and see if I can find them?" suggested Elsa, who was not without anxiety about the missing trio herself. "I could go very quickly, if you would not mind staying here with our belongings."

"Perhaps you would be able to see them, Elsa, and then call to them to return at once. But don't go far, dear," said Mrs. Drury, now really worried about the absentees.

"If you would go on packing up, we will all try to be back by the time you are ready," said Elsa, with a cheeriness she was far from feeling, as she hurried off.

*CHAPTER XVII.*

*"DON'T PERSUADE ME NOT TO, ANY MORE."*

Meanwhile, how had the missing trio been spending their time?

With delight, after walking about a quarter of a mile along the cliff, they found some old, uneven steps leading down to its base. They were very unsafe-looking, as several were missing at intervals; but, neither of the three girls being troubled with nerves, they proceeded to descend cautiously. Amethyst was the last to climb down, and it was her white handkerchief, fluttering in the breeze, which Mrs. Drury and Elsa had seen.

"I say, girls, mind how you get down here," cried Monica, who was leader. "It's an awful stretch." And she dropped a distance of several feet, to gain a foothold on a lower step.

"It's a good thing we have a gymnasium at school," said Olive, who had lost a considerable amount of breath over her scrambling; "that kind of practice helps one in experiences of this sort."

"Oh, Olive, I can't possibly get down there, my legs won't reach!" And Amethyst looked hopelessly at the long distance between the step she was on and the next one below.

"Drop down, you'll be all right," said both the girls encouragingly.

"Oh, I couldn't, I should fall!" cried the smaller girl, a spice of fear in the shrill tones.

"Oh, come along! Don't be a coward, Thistle!" said Olive contemptuously. "Here, I'll give you a hand."

Either the hand or the sneer had the desired effect, for Amethyst was a plucky little girl really; and in another moment she was landed safely on the lower step.

That proved to be the worst difficulty, and eventually, the shore was reached without further trouble.

"I wish Jack was here; he would like a race along this sand, poor old chap," said Monica, whose one sorrow had been the leaving of her devoted dog behind.

"Yes, isn't it jolly down here, and not a soul to be seen," cried Olive. "I wonder if there are any shells about?"

A search was instituted, and a collection of various kinds quickly gathered together, and tied up in a handkerchief. Then paddling was proposed, and a merry time ensued of splashing about, off and on the large flat rocks with which the sand was thickly studded at that particular spot.

"What's the time, Monica?" Amethyst enquired at length.

"Why, past three already," was the horrified reply; "how quickly the time has flown! We must give this up, girls, and get our shoes and stockings on."

The drying process was accomplished as satisfactorily as was compatible with only two very minute handkerchiefs, and seizing the bundle of shells, the girls reluctantly bade farewell to the charming and secluded little cove.

"I vote we find some other way up the cliff," suggested Monica; and the 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.