Chapter XXII: An Unforeseen Experience

It was wonderful how quickly Edgar improved in health and spirits after his arrival at the Mill House. In a very few days he was able to join his cousins in their amusements, and showed no sign of spoiling their pleasure as they had feared he would do. Surely some great change had taken place in the boy to make him so different from the old Edgar, who had set his own pleasure above every other consideration, for now, though the selfishness he had cultivated so long peeped out occasionally, he was evidently trying to check it, and—a more difficult task still—he was earnestly endeavouring to be straightforward in word and deed. Much to his relief no one mentioned the subject of the Calais Noble, not even Polly, who, however, made him give her a description of his accident, afterwards remarking that it could have been actually no worse than a nightmare such as she had frequently experienced herself when she had dreamt of falling over a precipice and had awakened to find herself safe in bed.

"Yes, it was just like that," Edgar replied, "only I awoke with a frightful headache. Wasn't I surprised to see Cousin Becky there! Mother says she shall never be able to repay her for her kindness to me."

"And yet Aunt Janie wouldn't ask her to stay at the Rookery when she wrote about coming to Beaworthy," Polly reminded him, for she had an excellent memory. "Cousin Becky belongs more to us than she does to you, Edgar, you must see that," she added; and her cousin did not argue the point.

All too quickly the August days passed by, and Mr. Trent's three weeks' holiday was nearly spent when he received a letter—as welcome as it was unexpected—from his employer, telling him he could be spared from the office for another week. Everyone was delighted, and Polly fairly lost her head and capered round the dining-room in her excitement on learning the contents of her uncle's letter.

"A whole week longer in this beautiful place!" she exclaimed ecstatically. "Oh, I do hope the weather will continue fine so that we can spend most of the time out-of-doors! What are we all going to do to-day?"

"I intend to hire a pony carriage—there is one to be had in the village—and take your mother and Cousin Becky for a drive this afternoon, Polly," her father informed her. "So you young people will have to find your own amusements."

"We can easily do that," she replied; and the boys agreed.

Accordingly, after dinner, when their elders had started for their drive, the children, left to their own devices, wandered through the village to the beach. The tide was out, and they walked round the cliffs, pretending they were explorers in a strange country where they had to guard against sudden attacks from wild beasts and savages. This game amused them for some time; but it was tiring making their way on the wet sand, and when they came to a pretty little cove, they sat down beneath the shelter of the cliffs to rest.

"We're safe here," remarked Edgar, "because if the tide came in and we couldn't get back to Lynn by the shore, the cliffs are not very steep, we could easily climb them."

"Yes I but it takes the tide a long time to come in," Polly replied. "I don't think it's low water yet."

"Oh yes, it is," corrected her cousin. "Jabez Triggs told me it would be low water at three o'clock, and it must be quite that. Why, it's past four," he amended, as he took out his watch and looked at it. "How the afternoon has flown!"

"And what an age we've been coming here!" exclaimed Roger, surprised at the time.

"We've had a fine game," said the little girl, taking off her broad-brimmed straw hat and fanning her hot face with it. "How we shall think and talk of all the fun we've had here when we get home—to Beaworthy, I mean! I wonder if we shall come to the Mill House another year? I asked Cousin Becky, and she said it was quite possible."

"I never enjoyed a holiday so much in my life before," Edgar declared. "I'd much rather stay at a village than at a larger place. Last year we went to Bournemouth, and I had a dreadfully slow time. I say, what an old chap Jabez Triggs is, isn't he?"

"Yes, but I like him," Roger answered, "he tells such exciting stories. What do you think he told me yesterday? Why, that not very many years ago there were acres of land between the village and the sea, and now you know the houses are close to the beach."

"How's that?" questioned Polly.

"Because the sea is gradually sucking away the land," her brother explained.

"Some people believe there are villages buried beneath the sea, and the fisher folk say they can sometimes hear the bells ringing in church towers—"

"Under the sea?" interposed Edgar unbelievingly.

"Yes, but perhaps that's not true, they may only fancy it," Roger admitted. "But Jabez says every storm takes away a bit of the land, that's quite certain. He remembers when he was a boy that a whole row of cottages was washed away one night; he pointed out to me the spot where they used to stand, and even when it's low tide it's covered with deep water now."

Polly gave a little shudder, and listened in silence whilst her companions continued their conversation. She was glad there had been no storm during their sojourn at the Mill House, for the thought of the encroaching sea was somewhat alarming to her mind.

"I think it's about time we went home," she observed at length, as she put on her hat and rose to her feet. "The tide seems to be coming in very fast now, so we ought to be going, for I know one can only get to this cove at low water."

"Polly is nervous," said Roger teasingly. "All right, we'll come; but there's no need to hurry."

The little girl was not certain of that; however, she held her peace and walked ahead of the boys in the direction of the point which hid the cove from sight of the village of Lynn. By-and-by she turned and came running back. "It's no good going on," she informed them, a startled expression in her eyes, "for the tide's come in, and—and—" She paused, looking anxiously at the cliffs which she knew they would now be obliged to climb, and she shuddered as she reflected how easily she became giddy. "I wish we'd turned back before," she added with a tremble in her voice.

The boys hastened on to the point, but they could not get around it, for, as Polly had represented to them, the sea had come in, and they were cut off from Lynn. However, they were not in the least dismayed.

"This is something like an adventure," Roger said as he and his cousin joined his sister again. "Why, Polly, how scared you look! We can easily get home by the cliffs."

"You may, but I can't," Polly replied despondently. "I shall be sure to get giddy and fall."

"Oh, nonsense!" her brother exclaimed impatiently. "You'll be all right. I'll go ahead and give you a hand. It will be rare fun, you'll see."

Polly doubted it, and the expression of her face was so dolorous that her companions both burst out laughing. Greatly offended, she turned from them and made her way towards the base of the cliffs, her figure held very upright—as though she had swallowed a poker, as she heard Roger tell Edgar—and her heart indignant against her brother and cousin alike. Her eyes were full of angry tears which blurred her sight; and perhaps that accounted for what followed; for, suddenly, she slipped on a piece of seaweed and fell, twisting her ankle as she did so.

"Oh, Polly, you should be more careful!" exclaimed Roger as he darted forward and assisted his sister to get up. She clung to him for a minute, then sank back on the ground. "What's the matter?" he asked anxiously.

"I've hurt my foot, Roger; I can't go any further."

"But, Polly, you must," he insisted, with a swift glance seawards.

"And I tell you I can't," she said, beginning to cry. "I can't walk, it—it hurts me."

"Oh, here's a pretty kettle of fish!" cried Roger, looking despairingly at his sister.

"Can't you really walk, Polly?" questioned Edgar. "At any rate, try."

She made the attempt; but the few steps she took caused her keen pain; to climb the cliff was out of the question. "She can't do it," Edgar said decidedly. "It's cruel to try and make her. Don't cry, Polly. We'll go back to Lynn and get a boat to fetch you."

"But supposing the tide comes up before you have time to get the boat here?" she inquired. "It's coming in very fast. Oh, do you mean to say you are going to leave me alone?"

"One of us will stay with you if you wish it," said Roger, beginning to realise the gravity of their position. "I'll stay whilst Edgar—"

"No, you go, Roger, because you'll be quicker than I could be," Edgar interrupted. "You can run much faster than I can, and when you reach the top of the cliff you must run all the way to Lynn, because—because I think there isn't much time to waste," he concluded in rather a trembling tone.

"Yes, yes, you go, Roger," urged Polly eagerly, for she had more confidence in her brother than in her cousin. "Edgar's quite right, he wouldn't be so quick as you."

"All right, then; I'm off," Roger answered. "I won't be longer than I can possibly help. Don't get low-spirited, Polly."

They watched him nimbly climb the side of the cliff, which presented no difficulties to him, for he was sure-footed and possessed a steady head. On reaching the summit he shouted and waved his handkerchief encouragingly, then disappeared from view. Polly heaved a sigh of relief, and expressed a hope that they would not have a great while to wait, to which her companion made no response. He was watching the incoming tide, and trying to calculate how long it would be before it would reach the bottom of the cliffs; he trusted nothing would happen to delay Roger on his mission.

"It's good of you to stay with me," Polly said gratefully, at length. "I suppose it was selfish of me not to want to be left alone. Isn't it nearly time for the boat to come?"

Edgar shook his head and he became silent, whilst they both listened to the soft lap-lap of the waves as they slowly drew nearer and nearer. Polly crouched on the ground close to the cliff, her face pale and frightened, and Edgar stood by her side, eagerly watching the point around which the expected boat must appear. Slowly the time dragged on until Roger had been gone more than an hour, and only about a dozen yards of sand divided the children from the water now.

"What shall we do if the tide comes right up to us?" asked Polly, in a voice which betrayed the intensest anxiety. "Shall you climb up the cliff?"

"And leave you? No, no, I won't do that. But I think we shall see a boat soon now. I wonder which of us will see it first."

He tried to speak cheerily for the sake of his companion, but a sense of terrible fear and hopelessness was creeping over him. He glanced at Polly; but instead of watching for the boat, she had covered her face with her hands, and he guessed she was praying. Then from the depths of his heart he prayed, too; and, mingled with his earnest petition for deliverance from the incoming tide was the prayer that, whatever happened, he might not, on this occasion, prove himself a coward.