The Haute Noblesse. George Manville Fenn
half a mile he ceased rowing.
“Tired?” said Harry.
“No; I have a blister on my hand; that’s all.”
“Come and pull, Leslie,” said Harry. “You’d better steer, Louie, and don’t send us on to a rock.”
The exchange of places was made, and once more they began to progress with the boat, travelling far more swiftly as they glided on close in to the mighty cliff which rose up overhead, dappled with mossy grey and patches of verdure, dotted with yellow and purple blooms.
“To go on like this for ever!” thought Leslie as he swung to and fro, his strong muscles making the water foam as he dipped his oar, watching Louise as she steered, and seemed troubled and ready to converse with Pradelle whenever she caught his eye.
“Starn all!” shouted Harry suddenly, as about three miles from home they came abreast of a narrow opening close to the surface of the water.
The way of the boat was checked, and Harry looked at the hole into which the tide ran and ebbed as the swell rose and fell, now nearly covering the opening, now leaving it three or four feet wide.
“Bound to say there are plenty of good specimens in there,” he said. “What do you say, Vic, shall we go in?”
“Impossible.”
“Not it. Bound to say that’s the opening to quite a large zorn. I’ve seen the seals go in there often.”
“Has it ever been explored?” said Leslie, who felt interested in the place.
“No; it’s nearly always covered. It’s only at low tides like this that the opening is bared. If the girls were not here I’d go in.”
“How?” said Pradelle.
“How?—why swim in.”
“And be shut up by the tide and drowned,” said Louise.
“Good thing too,” said Harry, with the same look of a spoiled boy at Madelaine. “I don’t find life go very jolly. Boat wouldn’t pass in there.”
He had risen from his seat and was standing with one foot on the gunwale, the other on the thwart, gazing curiously at the dark orifice some forty yards away, the boat rising and falling as it swayed here and there on the waves, which ran up to the face of the cliff and back, when just as the attention of all was fixed upon the little opening, from which came curious hissing and rushing noises, the boat rose on a good-sized swell, and as it sank was left upon the top of a weedy rock which seemed to rise like the shaggy head of a huge sea-monster beneath the keel.
There was a bump, a grinding, grating noise, a shout and a heavy splash, and the boat, after narrowly escaping being capsized, floated once more in deep water; but Harry had lost his balance, gone overboard, and disappeared.
Madelaine uttered a cry of horror, and then for a few moments there was a dead silence, during which Louise sat with blanched face, parted lips, and dilated eyes, gazing at the spot where her brother had disappeared. Pradelle held on by the side of the boat, and Leslie sprang up, rapidly stripped off coat and vest, and stood ready to plunge in.
Those moments seemed indefinitely prolonged, and a terrible feeling of despair began to attack the occupants of the boat as thought after thought, each of the blackest type, flashed through their brains. He had been sucked down by the undertow, and was being carried out to sea—he was entangled in the slimy sea-wrack, and could not rise again—he had struck his head against the rocks, stunned himself, and gone down like a stone, and so on.
Duncan Leslie darted one glance at the pale and suffering face of the sister, placed a foot on the gunwale, and was in the act of gathering himself up to spring from the boat, when Harry’s head rose thirty yards away.
“Ahoy!” he shouted, as he began to paddle and tread water. “Hallo, Leslie, ready for a bathe? Come out! Water’s beautiful. Swim you back to the harbour.”
There was a long-drawn breath in the boat which sounded like a groan, as the terrible mental pressure was removed, and the young man began to swim easily and slowly towards his friends.
“Mind she doesn’t get on another rock, Leslie,” he cried.
“Here, catch hold of this,” cried Pradelle, whose face was ashy, and he held out the boat-hook as far as he could reach.
“Thank ye,” said Harry mockingly, and twenty yards away. “Little farther, please. What a lovely day for a swim!”
“Harry, pray come into the boat,” cried Louise excitedly.
“What for? Mind the porpoise.”
He gave a few sharp blows on the water with his hands, raising himself up and turning right over, dived, his legs just appearing above the surface, and then there was an eddy where he had gone down.
“Don’t be frightened,” whispered Madelaine, whose voice sounded a little husky.
“Here we are again!” cried Harry, reappearing close to the boat and spluttering the water from his lips, as with all the gaiety of a boy he looked mirthfully at the occupants of the boat. “Any orders for pearls, ladies?”
“Don’t be foolish, Harry,” said Louise, as he swam close to them.
“Not going to be. I say, Leslie, take the boat-hook away from that fellow, or he’ll be making a hole in the bottom of the boat.”
As he spoke, he laid a hand upon the gunwale and looked merrily from one to the other.
“Don’t touch me, girls. I’m rather damp,” he said. “I say, what a capital bathing dress flannels make!”
“Shall I help you in?” said Leslie.
“No, thank ye, I’m all right. As I am in, I may as well have a swim.”
“No, no, Harry, don’t be foolish,” cried Louise.
“There, you’d better hitch a rope round me, and tow me behind, or I shall swamp the boat.”
“Harry! what are you going to do?” cried Madelaine, as he loosened his hold of the gunwale, and began to swim away.
“Wait a bit and you’ll see,” he cried. “Leslie, you take care of the boat. I shan’t be long.”
“But Harry—”
“All right, I tell you.”
“Where are you going?”
“In here,” he shouted back, and he swam straight to the low opening at the foot of the massive granite cliff, paddled a little at the mouth till the efflux of water was over, and then as the fresh wave came, he took a few strokes, gave a shout, and to the horror of the two girls seemed to be sucked right into the opening.
As he disappeared, he gave another shout, a hollow strange echoing “Good-bye,” and a few moments after there was a run back of the water and a hollow roar, and it needed very little exercise of the imagination to picture the rugged opening as the mouth of some marine monster into which the young man had passed.
Chapter Three.
Discords.
“Don’t be alarmed,” said Leslie quietly, “I daresay it is like one of the zorns yonder, only the mouth is too narrow for a boat.”
“But it is so foolish,” said Louise, giving him a grateful look.
“Yes, but he swims so easily and well, there is nothing to mind. What are you going to do, Mr. Pradelle?”
“Work the boat close up so as