The Eagle Cliff by R. M. Ballantyne (good books to read for women .TXT) 📖

doing so. Then, swimming on his own back, he gently drew her upon his breast, so that her head rested close to his chin. Thus the girl’s face was turned upwards and held well out of the water, and the youth was able to say almost in her ear, “Trust in God, dearest, He will save us!” while he struck out vigorously with his legs. Thus, swimming on his back, he headed for the shore.

Lest the reader should fancy that we are here merely inventing a mode of action, it may be well to state that we have conversed with a man styled “the Rescue,” whose duty it was to watch the boys of Aberdeen while bathing on the dangerous coast there, and who told us that he had saved some hundreds of lives—many of them in the manner above described.

Every one in the boat was fortunately able to swim, more or less, except Milly and Aggie Anderson. With the utmost anxiety to save the latter, her Uncle Ian made a desperate plunge when the boat upset, at the spot where, in the confusion, he thought he saw her go down. He grasped something under water, which clutched him violently in return. Rising to the surface he found that he had got hold of Giles Jackman, who, animated by the same desire to rescue the same girl, had also made a plunge at her. Flinging each other off almost angrily, they swam wildly about in search of her, for Giles had observed that Barret was sufficiently intent on Milly.

But poor Aggie was in even better hands. Ivor Donaldson had kept his eyes on her from the moment that he could distinguish faces in the approaching boat. He was a splendid swimmer. Even against wind and waves he made rapid headway, and in a few seconds caught the girl by the hair. In his case the absence of a plan of rescue was to some extent remedied by sheer strength of body, coupled with determination. The poor girl did her best to choke him, as drowning people will, but, happily, she was too weak for the purpose and he too strong! He suffered her to do her worst, and, with the arm which she left free made his way gallantly to the beach, where Duncan and all the domestics were ready to receive them.

Barret and Milly had landed just before them. Immediately after Archie and Eddie were swept in amid the foam, and Junkie himself—who, like his brothers, could swim like a cork—came careering in on the top of a wave, like a very water-imp! With all the energy of his nature he turned, the moment his feet touched ground, to lend a hand to his friend Tonal’, who was not far behind him.

Thus, one by one, the whole party got safely to land, for the laird, although old, was still vigorous, and, like the others, able to swim. MacRummle came in last, and they had some difficulty in getting him out of the water, for he was rather sluggish, as well as heavy; but he was none the worse for his immersion, and to the anxieties afterwards expressed by his friends, he replied quietly that he had become pretty well used to the water by that time. It was a trying experience, however, for all of them, and, in the opinion of Ian Anderson, as he gave it to his wife when they met, “it was a queer way o’ feenishin’ off a fery extraor’nar Sawbath tay—what-ë-ver!”

One morning, not long after this incident, the gentlemen made up a shooting party to try the summit of the hill for mountain hares—their hostess having twitted them with their inability to keep the household supplied with hare soup.

“I will accompany you, gentlemen, to the shoulder of the first hill,” observed their host, as he finished his breakfast, “but not farther, for I am not so young as I once was, and cannot be expected to keep pace with a ‘Woods and Forester.’”

“That is not a good reason for your stopping short, laird,” retorted Jackman, with a smile, “because it is quite possible for the ‘Woods and Forester’ to regulate his pace to that of the Western Isles.”

“Well, we shall see,” returned his host. “And what does my reckless Milly intend to do with herself?”

“I mean to have a little picnic—all by myself,” said Milly; “that is to say with nobody but me and Aggy Anderson.”

“D’you think that quite safe, so soon after her ducking?” asked Mrs Gordon.

“Quite safe, auntie, for she has not felt a bit the worse for that ducking; indeed, she seems much the better for it, and I am quite sure that hill air is good for her.”

“Oh! then, you mean to have your very select picnic on the hills?” said the laird.

“Yes, but no one shall know to what part we are going, for, as I have said, we mean to have a day of it all to ourselves; only we will take Junkie to protect us, and carry our provisions.”

There were two of the gentlemen who declined the shooting expedition. John Barret said he would start with them, but would at a certain point drop behind and botanise. MacRummle also preferred to make one more effort to catch that grilse which had risen so often to him of late, but was still at large in the big pool under the fall. The result of the morning’s discussion was that only Mabberly and Jackman proceeded to assault the hares on the mountain-top, accompanied by Archie and Eddie, with Ivor Donaldson to guide them.

Up in the nursery—that devastated region which suggested the idea of an hospital for broken furniture and toys—poor little neglected Flo sat down on the floor, and, propping her favourite doll up against the remnant of a drum, asked that sable friend what she would like to do. Receiving no answer, she said, in a cheery, confidential tone, which she had acquired from her mother, “I’ll tell you what, Miss Blackie, you an’ I will go for a picnic too. Zere’s plenty places for you an’ me, as well as for Cuzn Miwy to go to, an’ we will let muzzer go wid us—if she’s dood. So go, like a dood chile’, an’ get your things on.”

As the day was particularly bright and warm, this minor picnic was splendidly carried into effect, in a little coppice close to the house. There Mrs Gordon knitted and sometimes read, and behaved altogether like a particularly “dood chile,” while Flo and Blackie carried on high jinks around her.

The Eagle Cliff was the spot which Milly Moss had fixed on for her select little picnic with the niece of the fisherman. Strange to say, and without the slightest knowledge or suspicion of this fact (so he said), John Barret had selected the very same spot for his botanical ramble. It must be remembered, however, that it was a wide spot.

Seated in a secluded nook, not long after noon, Milly and Aggy, with Junkie, enjoyed the good things which were spread on a mass of flat rock in front of them.

“Now I call this jolly!” said Junkie, as well as he could, with a mass of jam-tart stopping the way.

“It is indeed,” returned Milly; “but I don’t feel quite sure whether you refer to the splendour of the scenery or the goodness of the tart.”

“To both,” returned the boy, inarticulately.

“Do you think you could eat any more?” asked Milly with a grave, earnest look that made Aggy giggle—for Aggy was a facile giggler!

“No, I don’t,” said Junkie. “I’m stuffed!”

“Well, then, you are at leisure to fill the cup again at the spring; so run, like a good boy, and do it.”

“How hard you are on a fellow, Cousin Milly,” grumbled the youngster, rising to do as he was bid; but the expression of his jammy face showed that he was no unwilling slave.

“How old are you, Aggy?” asked Milly when he was gone.

“Sixteen last birthday,” returned the girl.

“Ah! how I wish I was sixteen again!” said Milly, with a profound sigh, as she gazed over the rim of a tartlet she happened to be eating, at the glittering sea and the far-off horizon. She was evidently recalling some very sad and ancient memories.

“Why?” asked her companion, who exhibited a very slight tendency to laugh.

“Because I was so light-hearted and happy at that age.”

“How old are you now, Miss Milly?” asked Aggy, in a tone of increased respect.

“Nineteen,” replied the other with a sigh.

Again Aggy’s pretty round face was rippled by a suppressed giggle, and it is highly probable that she would have given way altogether if Junkie had not returned at the moment and rescued her.

“Here’s the water, Milly. Now, Aggy, have you had enough?”

“Yes, quite enough,” laughed the highly convalescent invalid.

“Well, then, come along wi’ me and I’ll show you the place where Cousin Milly fell down. You needn’t come, Milly. I want to show it to Aggy all by herself, an’ we won’t be long away.”

“Very well, Junkie, as you please. I daresay I shall manage to pass the time pleasantly enough till you return.”

She leant back on a thick heather bush as she spoke, and indulged herself in that most enjoyable and restful of occupations, on a bright warm day, namely, looking straight up into the sunny sky and contemplating the soft fleecy clouds that float there, changing their forms slowly but continually.

Now it so happened that John Barret, in his botanical wanderings about the Eagle Cliff, in quest of the “rare specimens” that Milly loved, discovered Milly herself! This was not such a matter-of-course discovery as the reader may suppose, for the Eagle Cliff occupied a vast space of the mountain-side, among the rugged ramparts and knolls of which several persons might have wandered for hours without much chance of observing each other, unless they were to shout or discharge the echo-disturbing gun.

Whether it was the mysterious attraction or the occult discernment of love that drew him, we cannot tell, but certain it is that when Barret, standing on the upper edge of the cliff, glanced from the eagle—which was watching him suspiciously—downward to the base of the cliff, where the sheep appeared like little buff spots on the green grass, his startled eyes alighted on Milly, lying on her back, contemplating the heavens!

At that distance she might have been a mole or a rabbit, as far as regards Barret’s power to discern her face or figure or occupation went; nevertheless, Barret knew at once that it was she, as his look and colour instantly indicated. There is something in such matters which we cannot understand, and, perhaps, had better not attempt to comprehend. It is sufficient to say that the young man instantly forgot his occupation, and began to descend the cliff by break-neck routes in a way that must have surprised—if not alarmed—the very eagle himself. He even trod some exceedingly rare “specimens” under foot in his haste. In a few minutes he drew near to the spot where Milly lay.

Then he suddenly stopped, for he remembered that she had that morning spoken of her picnic as a very private one; and was it not taking a base, unwarrantable advantage of her, thus to intrude on her privacy? But then—ah! how fatally, if not fortunately, that “but then” often comes in to seal our fate—“fix our flints,” as backwoodsmen are fond of putting it!—but then, was not the opportunity unsought—quite accidental? Would it not be utterly absurd, as well as disingenuous, to pass her and pretend not to see her, with his botanical box full of her own favourite plants and flowers?

Love is proverbially blind. The argument was more than sufficient. He shut his eyes, metaphorically, and rushed upon his fate.

Milly heard him rushing—in reality, walking—and knew his step! Another instance of the amazing—well— She started up in some confusion, just in time to appear as if engaged in viewing with interest the majestic landscape spread