“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 been easier to save than I. Plump little Miss Susie would have floated.”

Jim Airth’s big laugh rang out. “And Miss Murgatroyd could have sailed away in her cameo,” he said.

Then, as if that laugh had broken the spell which held him inactive: “Come,” he cried, and drew her to the foot of the cliff; “we have not a moment to lose! Look! Do you see the way I came down? See that long slide in the sand? I tobogganed down there on my back. Pretty steep, and nothing to hold to, I admit; but not so very far up, after all. And, where my slide begins, is a blessed ledge four foot by six.” He pulled out a huge clasp-knife, opened the largest blade, and commenced hacking steps in the face of the cliff. “We must climb,” said Jim Airth.

“I have never climbed,” whispered Myra’s voice behind him.

“You must climb to-day,” said Jim Airth.

“I could never even climb trees,” whispered Myra.

“You must climb a cliff to-night. It is our only chance.”

He hacked on, rapidly.

Suddenly he paused. “Show me your reach,” he said. “Mine would not do. Put your left hand there; so. Now stretch up with your right; as high as you can, easily.... Ah! three foot six, or thereabouts. Now your left foot close to the bottom. Step up with your right, as high as you can comfortably.... Two foot, nine. Good! One step, more or less, might make all the difference, by-and-by. Now listen, while I work. What a God-send for us that there happens to be, just here, this stratum of soft sand. We should have been done for, had the cliff been serpentine marble. You must choose between two plans. I could scrape you a step, wider than the rest—almost a ledge—just out of reach of the water, leaving you there, while I go on up, and finish. Then I could return for you. You could climb in front, I helping from below. You would feel safer. Or—you must follow me up now, step by step, as I cut them.”

“I could not wait on a ledge alone,” said Myra. “I will follow you, step by step.”

“Good,” said Jim Airth; “it will save time. I am afraid you must take off your shoes and stockings. Nothing will do for this work, but naked feet. We shall need to stick our toes into the sand, and make them cling on like fingers.”

He pulled off his own boots and stockings; then drew the belt from his Norfolk jacket, and fastened it firmly round his left ankle in such a way that a long end would hang down behind him as he mounted.

“See that?” he said. “When you are in the niches below me, it will hang close to your hands. If you are slipping, and feel you must clutch at something, catch hold of that. Only, if possible, shout first, and I will stick on like a limpet, and try to withstand the strain. But don’t do it, unless really necessary.”

He picked up Myra’s shoes and stockings, and put them into his big pockets.

At that moment an advance wave rushed up the sand and caught their bare feet.

“Oh, Jim Airth,” cried Myra, “go without me! I have not a steady head. I cannot climb.”

He put his hands upon her shoulders, and looked full into her eyes.

“You can climb,” he said. “You must climb. You shall climb. We must climb—or drown. And, remember: if you fall, I fall too. You will not be saving me, by letting yourself go.”

She looked up into his eyes, despairingly. They blazed into hers from beneath his bent brows. She felt the tremendous mastery of his will. Her own gave one final struggle.

“I have nothing to live for, Jim Airth,” she said. “I am alone in the world.”

“So am I,” he cried. “I have been worse than alone, for a half score of years. But there is life to live for. Would you throw away the highest of all gifts? I want to live—Good God! I must live; and so must you. We live or die together.”

He loosed her shoulders and took her by the wrists. He lifted her trembling hands, and held them against his breast.

For a moment they stood so, in absolute silence.

Then Myra felt herself completely dominated. All fear slipped from her; but the assurance which took its place was his courage, not hers; and she knew it. Lifting her head, she smiled at him, with white lips.

“I shall not fall,” she said.

Another wave swept round their ankles, and remained there.

“Good,” said Jim Airth, and loosed her wrists. “We shall owe our lives to each other. Next time I look into your face, please God, we shall be in safety. Come!”

He sprang up the face of the cliff, standing in the highest niches he had made.

“Now follow me, carefully,” he said; “slowly, and carefully. We are not in a position to hurry. Always keep each hand and each foot firmly in a niche. Are you there? Good!... Now don’t look either up or down, but keep your eyes on my heels. Directly I move, come on into the empty places. See?... Now then. Can you manage?... Good! On we go! After all it won’t take long.... I say, what fun if the Miss Murgatroyds peeped over the cliff! Amelia would be so shocked at our bare feet. Eliza would cry: ‘Oh my dear love!’ And Susie would promptly fall upon us! Hullo! Steady down there! Don’t laugh too much.... Fine knife, this. I bought it in Mexico. And if the big blade gives out, there are two more; also a saw, and a cork-screw.... Mind the falling sand does not get into your eyes.... Tell me if the niches are not deep enough, and remember there is no hurry, we are not aiming to catch any particular train! Steady down there! Don’t laugh.... Up we go! Oh, good! This is a third of the way. Don’t look either up or down. Watch my heels—I wish they were more worth looking at—and remember the belt is quite handy, and I am as firm as a rock up here. You and all the Miss Murgatroyds might hang on to it together. Steady down there!... All right; I won’t mention them.... By the way, the water must be fairly deep below us now. If you fell, you would merely get a ducking. I should slide down and pull you out, and we would start afresh.... Good Lord!... Oh, never mind! Nothing. Only, my knife slipped, but I caught it again.... We must be half way, by now. How lucky we have my glissading marks to guide us. I can’t see the ledge from here. Let’s sing ‘Nancy Lee.’ I suppose you know it. I can always work better to a good rollicking tune.”

Then, as he drove his blade into the cliff, Jim Airth’s gay voice rang out:

—Blow! I’ve struck a rock! Not a big one though. Remember this step will be slightly more to your right

Oh, hang these unexpected stones! That’s finished my big blade!

Now the chorus.

Come on! You sing too!”

came Lady Ingleby’s voice from below, rather faint and quavering.

“That’s right!” shouted Jim Airth. “Keep it up! I can see the ledge now, just above us.

—Keep it up down there! I have one hand on the ledge—

quavered Lady Ingleby, making one final effort to move up into the vacant niches, though conscious that her fingers and toes were so numb that she could not feel them grip the sand.

Then Jim Airth’s whole body vanished suddenly from above her, as he drew himself on to the ledge.

“Yeo ho! we go!” Came his gay voice from above.

sang Lady Ingleby, in a faint whisper.

She could not move on into the empty niches. She could only remain where she was, clinging to the face of the cliff.

She suddenly thought of a fly on a wall; and remembered a particular fly, years ago, on her nursery wall. She had followed its ascent with a small interested finger, and her nurse had come by with a duster, and saying: “Nasty thing!” had ruthlessly flicked it off. The fly had fallen—fallen dead, on the nursery carpet.... Lady Ingleby felt she too was falling. She gave one agonised glance upward to the towering cliff, with the line of sky above it. Then everything swayed and rocked. “A mother of soldiers,” her brain insisted, “must fall without screaming.” Then—A long arm shot down from above; a strong hand gripped her firmly.

“One step more,” said Jim Airth’s voice, close to her ear, “and I can lift you.”

She made the effort, and he drew her on to the ledge beside him.

“Thank you very much,” said Lady Ingleby. “And who was Davy Jones?”

Jim Airth’s face was streaming with perspiration. His mouth was full of sand. His heart was beating in his throat. But he loved to play the game, and he loved to see another do it. So he laughed as he put his arm around her, holding her tightly so that she should not realise how much she was trembling.

“Davy Jones,” he said, “is a gentleman who has a locker at the bottom of the sea, into which all drown’d things go. I am afraid your pretty parasol has gone there, and my boots and stockings. But we may well spare him those.... Oh, I say!.... Yes, do have a good cry. Don’t mind me. And don’t you think between us we could remember some sort of a prayer? For if ever two people faced death together, we have faced it; and, by God’s mercy, here we are—alive.”