The Haute Noblesse. George Manville Fenn
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’r’aps, 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 frame a of sunny amethystine sea; then at the rocky sides, dripping with moisture, and here of a rich metallic green, there covered with glistening weeds of various shades of olive-green and brown.
“Ahoy—oy!” shouted Harry with all his might, and at the same moment he let his oars splash in the water.
Pradelle leaped to his feet as there came a strange echo and a whirring rush, and a dozen pigeons swept past their heads from out of the depths of the water cave, and away into the brilliant sunshine.
“Oh, if I had a gun,” cried Pradelle, to hide his confusion.
“What for—to make a miss?” sneered Harry. “Now then, out with those cans. Fill every one, and I’ll try and knock off a few anemones for the governor.”
As he spoke he laid in his oars, picked a hammer and chisel from out of the locker in the forepart of the boat, and then worked it along by the side of the great cave, as from out of the clefts and crannies above and beneath the water he searched for the semi-gelatinous sea-anemones that clustered among barnacles, and the snail-like whorl molluscs whose home was on the weedy rocks.
The girls aided all they could, pointing out and receiving in the tins a many-rayed creature, which closed up till it resembled a gout of blood; now, still adhering to the rock which Harry chipped off, a beautiful Actinia of olive-green with gem-like spots around the mouth and amid its fringe of turquoise blue.
Duncan Leslie eagerly lent his help; and, not to be behindhand, Pradelle took up the boat-hook and held on, but with the smoothness and care of a sleek tom-cat, he carefully avoided wetting his hands.
“Nothing very new here,” said Harry at last, as the waves that kept coming in made the boat rise and fall gently; “there’s another better cave than this close by. Let’s go there; or what do you say to stopping here and having a smoke till the tide has risen and shut us in?”
“Is there any risk of that?” said Pradelle anxiously.
“Oh, yes, plenty.”
Leslie glanced at Louise and thought that it would be very pleasant to play protector all through the darkness till the way was open and daylight shone again. He caught her eyes more than once and tried to read them as he wondered whether there was hope for him; but so surely as she found him gazing rather wistfully at her, she hurriedly continued the collecting, pointing out one of the beautiful objects they sought beneath the surface, and asking Pradelle to shift the boat a little farther along.
“All my vanity and conceit,” said Leslie to himself with a sigh; “and why should I worry myself about a woman? I have plenty to do without thinking of love and marriage. If I did, why not begin to dream about pleasant, straightforward Madelaine Van Heldre? There can be nothing more than a friendly feeling towards Master Harry here.”
“Now then, sit fast,” cried the latter object of his thoughts; “and if we are capsized, girls, I’ll look after you, Maddy. Pradelle here will swim out with Louie, and I shall leave you to bring out the boat, Leslie. You can swim, can’t you?”
“A little,” said the young man drily.
Pradelle looked rather more green, for the light within the cave was of a peculiar hue, and he began to think uneasily of bathing out of a machine at Margate, holding on to a rope, and also of the effort he once made to swim across a tepid bath in town. But he laughed heartily directly after as he realised that it was all banter on his friend’s part, while, in spite of himself, he gave a sigh of relief as, riding out on the crest of a broken wave, they once more floated in the sunshine.
Ten minutes’ careful rowing among the rocks, which were now four or five feet beneath the water, now showing their weedy crests above, brought them to the mouth of another cave, only approachable from the sea, and sending the boat in here, the collection went on till it was deemed useless to take more specimens, when they passed out again, greatly to Pradelle’s satisfaction.
“How’s time?” said Harry. “Half-past four? Plenty of time. High tea at six. What shall we do—sail