Of High Descent. Fenn George Manville
usual, as he turned them upon the young mine-owner.
“I should only be too happy,” said the latter, “if – ”
“Oh, there’s plenty of room, Mr Leslie,” cried the girls in duet. “Pray come.”
The invitation was so genuine that Leslie’s heart seemed to leap.
“Oh yes, plenty of room,” said Harry, “only if the wind drops, you’ll have to pull an oar.”
“Of course,” said Leslie, stepping in.
Harry raised the boat-hook, and thrust the little vessel away, and then began to step the mast.
“Lay hold of the rudder, Leslie,” he cried. “Send us up some fish for tea, uncle.”
“I’ll wait and see first whether you come back,” said the old man. “Good-bye, girls. Don’t be uneasy. I’ll go and tell the old people if you’re drowned.”
“Thank you,” shouted back the young man as he hoisted the little sail, which began to fill at once, and by the time he had it sheeted home, the boat was swiftly running eastward with the water pattering against her bows, and a panorama of surpassing beauty seeming to glide slowly by them on the left.
“There!” cried Harry to his friend, who had seated himself rather sulkily forward, the order to take the tiller having placed Leslie between Louise and Madelaine. “Make much of it, Vic: Paddington to-morrow night, hansom cab or the Underground, and next morning the office. Don’t you feel happy?”
“Yes, now,” said Pradelle, with a glance at Louise.
“Easy, Leslie, easy,” cried Harry; “where are you going?”
“I beg pardon,” said the young man hastily, for he had unwittingly changed the course of the boat.
“That’s better. Any one would think you wanted to give Uncle Luke the job he talked about.”
Madelaine looked up hastily.
“No: we will not do that, Miss Van Heldre,” said Leslie smiling. “Shall I hold the sheet, Vine?”
“No need,” said the young man, making the rope fast. “But – ”
“Oh, all right. I know what you’re going to say – puff of wind might lay us over as we pass one of the combes. Wasn’t born here for nothing.”
Leslie said no more, but deferred to the opinion of the captain of the boat.
“Might as well have brought a line to trail. You’d have liked to fish, wouldn’t you, Vic?”
“Only when we are alone,” said Pradelle. “Can you tell me the name of that point, Miss Vine?”
“Brea,” said Louise quietly.
“And that little valley?”
“Tol Du. The old Cornish names must sound strange to any one from London.”
“Oh no,” he said, bending forward to engage her in conversation. “This place is very interesting, and I shall regret going,” he added with a sigh, and a thoughtful look toward the picturesque little group of houses on either side of the estuary.
“I should think you will,” said Harry. “Never mind, we’ve had a very jolly time. I say, Maddy,” he whispered, “you will write to a fellow, won’t you?”
“No,” she said quietly; “there is no need.”
“No need?”
“Louie will be writing to you every week, and you will answer her. I shall hear how you are getting on.”
Harry whistled and looked angrily at his sister, who was replying to some remark made by Leslie.
“Here, Vic,” he said, “she’s too heavy forward. Come and sit by my sister. That’s better. A little more over to the side, Leslie. Always trim your boat.”
The changes were made, and the little yawl sped rapidly on past the headland of grey granite hoary and shaggy with moss; past black frowning masses of slaty shale, over and amongst which the waves broke in sparkling foam, and on and on by ferny hollows and rifts, down which trickled tiny streams. The day was glorious, and the reflection of the sapphire sky dyed the sea tint of a blue that seemed amethystine in its richer transparent hue. The grey gulls floated overhead, and the tiny fish they pursued made the sea flash as they played about and showed their silvery sides.
But the conversation flagged. Possibly the fact of its being the last day of a pleasant sojourn acted upon the spirits of two of the party, while the third of the male occupants of the boat rather welcomed the restraint and silence, for it gave him an opportunity to sit and think and wonder what was to be his future, and what the animated countenance of Louise Vine meant as she answered the questions of her brother’s friend.
He was a visitor as well as her brother’s companion; he had been staying at Mr Vine’s for a fortnight. They had had endless opportunities for conversation, and – in short, Duncan Leslie felt uncomfortable.
It was then with a feeling of relief that was shared by both the ladies, that after a few miles run Henry Vine stood up in the bows, and, keeping a sharp look out for certain rocks, shouted his orders to Leslie as to the steering of the boat, and finally, as they neared the frowning cliffs, suddenly lowered the sail and took up the oars.
They were abreast of a large cave, where the swift grey-winged pigeons flew in and out over the swelling waves, which seemed to glide slowly on and on, to rush rapidly after the birds and disappear in the gloom beneath the arch. Then there was a low echoing boom as the wave struck far away in the cave, and came back hissing and whispering to be merged in the next.
“Going to row close in?” said Leslie, scanning the weird, forbidding place rather anxiously.
“Going to row right in,” said Harry, with a contemptuous smile. “Not afraid, are you?”
“Can’t say,” replied Leslie. “A little perhaps. The place does not look tempting. Do you think it is safe to go in?”
“Like to land on the rock till we come back?” said Harry, instead of answering the question.
“No,” said Leslie quietly; “but do you think it wise to row in there?”
“You’re not afraid, are you, girls?”
“I always feel nervous till we are outside again,” said Louise quietly.
“But you will be very careful, Harry,” said Madelaine.
“Think I want to drown myself?” he said bitterly. “I might just as well, p’raps, as go back to that dismal office in London, to slave from morning till night.”
He rested upon his oars for a minute or two, and perhaps from the reflection of the masses of ferns which fringed the arch of the cavern, and which were repeated in the clear waters, Victor Pradelle’s face seemed to turn of a sickly green, while one hand grasped the edge of the boat with spasmodic force.
“Now then, hold tight,” said the rower, as a swell came from seaward, running right in and raising the boat so that by skilful management she was borne forward right beneath the arch and then away into the depths of the cavern, leaving her rocking upon the watery floor, while it sped on away into the darkness, where it broke with a booming noise which echoed, and whispered, and died away in sobs, and sighs, and strange hisses and gasps, as if the creatures which made the cavern their lair had been disturbed, and were settling down again to sleep.
“There, Vic,” cried Harry, “what do you think of this?”
Pradelle was holding tightly by the side of the boat, and gazing uneasily round.
“Think? Yes: very wild and wonderful,” he said huskily.
“Wonderful? I should think it is. Goes in ever so far, only it isn’t wide enough for the boat.”
Leslie looked back at the mouth, fringed with the fronds of ferns, and at the lovely picture it framed of sunny amethystine sea; then at the rocky sides, dripping with