The Mistress of Shenstone by Florence Louisa Barclay (fantasy novels to read TXT) 📕

has passed a week without receiving any.

She read Mrs. Dalmain's letter through rapidly; and once she laughed aloud; and once a sudden colour flamed into her cheeks.

Then she laid it down, and helped herself to honey--real heather-honey, golden in the comb.

She took up her letter again, and read it carefully, weighing each word.

Then:--"Good old Jane!" she said; "that is rather neatly put: the 'safely abstract' becoming the 'perilously personal.' She has acquired the knack of terse and forceful phraseology from her long friendship with the doctor. I can do it myself, when I try; only, _my_ Sir Derycky sentences are apt merely to sound well, and mean nothing at all. And--after all--_does_ this of Jane's mean anything worthy of consideration? Could six foot five of abstraction--eating its breakfast in complete unconsciousness of one's presence, returning one's timid 'good-morning' with perfunctory politeness, and relegating one, while still debating the possibility of venturing a remark on the weather, to obvious oblivion--ever become perilously personal?"

Lady Ingleby laughed again, returned the letter to its envelope, and proceeded to cut herself a slice of home-made currant cake. As she finished it, with a final cup of tea, she thought with amusement of the difference between this substantial meal in the honeysuckle arbour of the old inn garden, and the fashionable teas then going on in crowded drawing-rooms in town, where people hurried in, took a tiny roll of thin bread-and-butter, and a sip at luke-warm tea, which had stood sufficiently long to leave an abiding taste of tannin; heard or imparted a few more or less detrimental facts concerning mutual friends; then hurried on elsewhere, to a cucumber sandwich, colder tea, which had stood even longer, and a fresh instalment of gossip.

"Oh, why do we do it?" mused Lady Ingleby. Then, taking up her scarlet parasol, she crossed the little lawn, and stood at the garden gate, in the afternoon sunlight, debating in which direction she should go.

Usually her walks took her along the top of the cliffs, where the larks, springing from the short turf and clumps of waving harebells, sang themselves up into the sky. She loved being high above the sea, and hearing the distant thunder of the breakers on the rocks below.

But to-day the steep little street, down through the fishing village, to the cove, looked inviting. The tide was out, and the sands gleamed golden.

Also, from her seat in the arbour, she had seen Jim Airth's tall figure go swinging along the cliff edge, silhouetted against the clear blue of the sky. And one sentence in the letter she had just received, made this into a factor which turned her feet toward the shore.

The friendly Cornish folk, sitting on their doorsteps in the sunshine, smiled at the lovely woman in white serge, who passed down their village street, so tall and graceful, beneath the shade of her scarlet parasol. An item in the doctor's prescription had been the discarding of widow's weeds, and it had seemed quite natural to Myra to come down to her first Cornish breakfast in a cream serge gown.

Arrived at the shore, she turned in the direction she usually took when up above, and walked quickly along the firm smooth sand; pausing occasionally to pick up a beautifully marked stone, or to examine a brilliant sea-anemone or gleaming jelly-fish, left stranded by the tide.

Presently she reached a place where the cliff jutted out toward the sea; and, climbing over slippery rocks, studded with shining pools in which crimson seaweed waved, crabs scudded sideways from her passing shadow, and darting shrimps flicked across and buried themselves hastily in the sand, Myra found herself in a most fascinating cove. The line of cliff here made a horseshoe, not quite half a mile in length. The little bay, within this curve, was a place of almost fairy-like beauty; the sand a soft glistening white, decked with delicate crimson seaweed. The cliffs, towering up above, gave welcome shadow to the shore; yet the sun behind them still gleamed and sparkled on the distant sea.

Myra walked to the centre of the horseshoe; then, picking up a piece of driftwood, scooped out a comfortable hollow in the sand, about a dozen yards from the foot of the cliff; stuck her open parasol up behind it, to shield herself from the observation, from above, of any chance passer-by; and, settling comfortably into the soft hollow, lay back, watching, through half-closed lids, the fleeting shadows, the blue sky, the gently moving sea. Little white clouds blushed rosy red. An opal tint gleamed on the water. The moving ripple seemed too far away to break the restful silence.

Lady Ingleby's eyelids drooped lower and lower.

"Yes, my dear Jane," she murmured, dreamily watching a snow-white sail, as it rounded the point, curtseyed, and vanished from view; "undoubtedly a--a well-expressed sentence; but far from--from--being fact. The safely abstract could hardly require--a--a--a cameo----"

The long walk, the sea breeze, the distant lapping of the water--all these combined had done their soothing work.

Lady Ingleby slept peacefully in Horseshoe Cove; and the rising tide crept in.


CHAPTER IX


JIM AIRTH TO THE RESCUE

An hour later, a man swung along the path at the summit of the cliffs, whistling like a blackbird.

The sun was setting; and, as he walked, he revelled in the gold and crimson of the sky; in the opal tints upon the heaving sea.

The wind had risen as the sun set, and breakers were beginning to pound along the shore.

Suddenly something caught his eye, far down below.

"By Jove!" he said. "A scarlet poppy on the sands!"

He walked on, until his rapid stride brought him to the centre of the cliff above Horseshoe Cove.

Then--"Good Lord!" said Jim Airth, and stood still.

He had caught sight of Lady Ingleby's white skirt reposing on the sand, beyond the scarlet parasol.

"Good Lord!" said Jim Airth.

Then he scanned the horizon. Not a boat to be seen.

His quick eye travelled along the cliff, the way he had come. Not a living thing in sight.

On to the fishing village. Faint threads of ascending vapour indicated chimneys. "Two miles at least," muttered Jim Airth. "I could not run it and get back with a boat, under three quarters of an hour."

Then he looked down into the cove.

"Both ends cut off. The water will reach her feet in ten minutes; will sweep the base of the cliff, in twenty."

Exactly beneath the spot where he stood, more than half way down, was a ledge about six feet long by four feet wide.

Letting himself over the edge, holding to tufts of grass, tiny shrubs, jutting stones, cracks in the surface of the sandstone, he managed to reach this narrow ledge, dropping the last ten feet, and landing on it by an almost superhuman effort of balance.

One moment he paused; carefully took its measure; then, leaning over, looked down. Sixty feet remained, a precipitous slope, with nothing to which foot could hold, or hand could cling.

Jim Airth buttoned his Norfolk jacket, and tightened his belt. Then slipping, feet foremost off the ledge, he glissaded down on his back, bending his knees at the exact moment when his feet thudded heavily on to the sand.

For a moment the shock stunned him. Then he got up and looked around.

He stood, within ten yards of the scarlet parasol, on the small strip of sand still left uncovered by the rapidly advancing sweep of the rising tide.


CHAPTER X


"YEO HO, WE GO!"

"A cameo chaperonage," murmured Lady Ingleby, and suddenly opened her eyes.

Sky and sea were still there, but between them, closer than sea or sky, looking down upon her with a tense light in his blue eyes, stood Jim Airth.

"Why, I have been asleep!" said Lady Ingleby.

"You have," said Jim Airth; "and meanwhile the sun has set, and--the tide has come up. Allow me to assist you to rise."

Lady Ingleby put her hand into his, and he helped her to her feet. She stood beside him gazing, with wide startled eyes, at the expanse of sea, the rushing waves, the tiny strip of sand.

"The tide seems very high," said Lady Ingleby.

"Very high," agreed Jim Airth. He stood close beside her, but his eyes still eagerly scanned the water. If by any chance a boat came round the point there would still be time to hail it.

"We seem to be cut off," said Lady Ingleby.

"We _are_ cut off," replied Jim Airth, laconically.

"Then I suppose we must have a boat," said Lady Ingleby.

"An excellent suggestion," replied Jim Airth, drily, "if a boat were to be had. But, unfortunately, we are two miles from the hamlet, and this is not a time when boats pass in and out; nor would they come this way. When I saw you, from the top of the cliff, I calculated the chances as to whether I could reach the boats, and be back here in time. But, before I could have returned with a boat, you would have--been very wet," finished Jim Airth, somewhat lamely.

He looked at the lovely face, close to his shoulder. It was pale and serious, but showed no sign of fear.

He glanced at the point of cliff beyond. Twenty feet above its rocky base the breakers were dashing; but round that point would be safety.

"Can you swim?" asked Jim Airth, eagerly.

Myra's calm grey eyes met his, steadily. A gleam of amusement dawned in them.

"If you put your hand under my chin, and count 'one--two! one--two!' very loud and quickly, I can swim nearly ten yards," she said.

Jim Airth laughed. His eyes met hers, in sudden comprehending comradeship. "By Jove, you're plucky!" they seemed to say. But what he really said was: "Then swimming is no go."

"No go, for me," said Myra, earnestly, "nor for you, weighted by me. We should never get round that eddying whirlpool. It would merely mean that we should both be drowned. But you can easily do it alone. Oh, go at once! Go quickly! And--don't look back. I shall be all right. I shall just sit down against the cliff, and wait. I have always been fond of the sea."

Jim Airth looked at her again. And, this time, open admiration shone in his keen eyes.

"Ah, brave!" he said. "A mother of soldiers! Such women make of us a fighting race."

Myra laid her hand on his sleeve. "My friend," she said, "it was never given me to be a mother. But I am a soldier's daughter, and a soldier's widow; and--I am not afraid to die. Oh, I do beg of you--give me one handclasp and go!"

Jim Airth took the hand held out, but he kept it firmly in his own.

"You shall not die," he said, between his teeth. "Do you suppose I would leave any woman to die alone? And _you_--you, of all women!--By heaven," he repeated, doggedly; "you shall not die. Do you think I could go; and leave--" he broke off abruptly.

Myra smiled. His hand was very strong, and her heart felt strangely restful. And had he not said: "_You_, of all women?" But, even in what seemed likely to be her last moments, Lady Ingleby's unfailing instinct was to be tactful.

"I am sure you would leave no woman in danger," she said; "and some, alas! might have