Lord Rotherwood came in to try to wile his cousin to share in the survey of the country; but she declared it to be impossible, as all her avocations had fallen into arrear, and she had to find a couple of servants as well as a house for the Merrifields. This took her in the direction of the works, and Gillian proposed to go with her as far as the Giles’s, there to sit a little while with Lilian, for whom she had a new book.

‘My dear, surely you must be tired out!’ exclaimed the stay-at-home aunt.

‘Oh no, Aunt Ada! Quite freshened by that blow on the common.’

And Miss Mohun was not sorry, thinking that to leave Gillian free to come home by herself would be the best refutation of Mrs. Mount’s doubts of her.

They had not, however, gone far on their way—on the walk rather unfrequented at this time of day—before Gillian exclaimed, ‘Is that Kally? Oh! and who is that with her?’ For there certainly was a figure in somewhat close proximity, the ulster and pork-pie hat being such as to make the gender doubtful.

‘How late she is! I am afraid her mother is worse,’ said Miss Mohun, quickening her steps a little, and, at the angle of the road, the pair in front perceived them. Kalliope turned towards them; the companion—about whom there was no doubt by that time—gave a petulant motion and hastened out of sight.

In another moment they were beside Kalliope, who looked shaken and trembling, with tears in her eyes, which sprang forth at the warm pressure of her hand.

‘I am afraid Mrs. White is not so well,’ said Miss Mohun kindly.

‘She is no worse, I think, thank you, but I was delayed. Are you going this way? May I walk with you?’

‘I will come with you to the office,’ said Miss Mohun, perceiving that she was in great need of an escort and protector.

‘Oh, thank you, thank you, if it is not too much out of your way.’

A few more words passed about Mrs. White’s illness and what advice she was having. Miss Mohun could not help thinking that the daughter did not quite realise the extent of the illness, for she added—

‘It was a good deal on the nerves and mind. She was so anxious about Mr. James White’s arrival.’

‘Have you not seen him?’

‘Oh no! Not yet.’

‘I think you will be agreeably surprised,’ said Gillian. And here they left her at Mrs. Giles’s door.

‘Yes,’ added Miss Mohun, ‘he gave me the idea of a kind, just man.’

‘Miss Mohun,’ said the poor girl, as soon as they were tete-a-tete, ‘I know you are very good. Will you tell me what I ought to do? You saw just now—’

‘I did; and I have heard.’

Her face was all in a flame and her voice choked. ‘He says—Mr. Frank does—that his mother has found out, and that she will tell her own story to Mr. White; and—and we shall all get the sack, as he calls it; and it will be utter misery, and he will not stir a finger to vindicate me; but if I will listen to him, he will speak to Mr. White, and bear me through; but I can’t—I can’t. I know he is a bad man; I know how he treated poor Edith Vane. I never can; and how shall I keep out of his way?’

‘My poor child,’ said Miss Mohun, ‘it is a terrible position for you; but you are doing quite right. I do not believe Mr. White would go much by what that young man says, for I know he does not think highly of him.’

‘But he does go altogether by Mr. Stebbing—altogether, and I know he—Mr. Stebbing, I mean—can’t bear us, and would not keep us on if he could help it. He has been writing for another designer—an artist—instead of me.’

‘Still, you would be glad to have the connection severed?’

‘Oh yes, I should be glad enough to be away; but what would become of my mother and the children?’

‘Remember your oldest friends are on their way home; and I will try to speak to Mr. White myself.’

They had reached the little door of Kalliope’s office, which she could open with a latch-key, and Miss Mohun was just about to say some parting words, when there was a sudden frightful rumbling sound, something between a clap of thunder and the carting of stones, and the ground shook under their feet, while a cry went up—loud, horror-struck men and women’s voices raised in dismay.

Jane had heard that sound once before. It was the fall of part of the precipitous cliff, much of which had been quarried away. But in spite of all precautions, frost and rain were in danger of loosening the remainder, and wire fences were continually needing to be placed to prevent the walking above on edges that might be perilous.

Where was it? What had it done? was the instant thought. Kalliope turned as pale as death; the girls came screaming and thronging out of their workshop, the men from their sheds, the women from the cottages, as all thronged to the more open space beyond the buildings where they could see, while Miss Mohun found herself clasped by her trembling niece.

Others were rushing up from the wharf. One moment’s glance showed all familiar with the place that a projecting point, forming a sort of cusp in the curve of the bay, had gone, and it lay, a great shattered mass, fragments spreading far and wide, having crashed through the roof of a stable that stood below.

There was a general crowding forward to the spot, and crying and exclamation, and a shouting of ‘All right’ from above and below. Had any one come down with it? A double horror seized Miss Mohun as she remembered that her cousin was to inspect those parts that very afternoon.

She caught at the arm of a man and demanded, ‘Was any one up there?’

‘Master’s there, and some gentlemen; but they hain’t brought down with it,’ said the man. ‘Don’t be afraid, miss. Thank the Lord, no one was under the rock—horses even out at work.’

‘Thank God, indeed!’ exclaimed Miss Mohun, daring now to look up, and seeing, not very distinctly, some figures of men, who, however, were too high up and keeping too far from the dangerous broken edge for recognition.

Room was made for the two ladies, by the men who knew Miss Mohun, to push forward, so as to have a clearer view of the broken wall and roof of the stable, and the great ruddy blue and white veined mass of limestone rock, turf, and bush adhering to what had been the top.

There was a moment’s silence through the crowd, a kind of awe at the spectacle and the possibilities that had been mercifully averted.

Then one of the men said—

‘That was how it was. I saw one of them above—not Stebbing—No—coming out to the brow; and after this last frost, not a doubt but that must have been enough to bring it down.’

‘Not railed off, eh?’ said the voice of young Stebbing from among the crowd.

‘Well, it were marked with big stones where the rail should go,’ said another. ‘I know, for I laid ‘em myself; but there weren’t no orders given.’

‘There weren’t no stones either. Some one been and took ‘em away,’ added the first speaker.

‘I see how it is,’ Frank Stebbing’s metallic voice could plainly be heard, flavoured with an oath. ‘This is your neglect, White, droning, stuck-up sneak as you always were and will be! I shall report this. Damage to property, and maybe life, all along of your confounded idleness.’

And there were worse imprecations, which made Miss Mohun break out in a tone of shocked reproof—

‘Mr. Stebbing!’

‘I beg your pardon, Miss Mohun; I was not aware of your presence—’

‘Nor of a Higher One,’ she could not help interposing, while he went on justifying himself.

‘It is the only way to speak to these fellows; and it is enough to drive one mad to see what comes of the neglect of a conceited young ass above his business. Life and property—’

‘But life is safe, is it not?’ she interrupted with a shudder.

‘Ay, ay, ma’am,’ said the voice of the workman, ‘or we should know it by this time.’

But at that moment a faint, gasping cry caught Jane’s ear.

Others heard it too. It was a child’s voice, and grew stronger after a moment. It came from the corner of the shed outside the stable.

‘Oh, oh!’ cried the women, pressing forward, ‘the poor little Fields!’

Then it was recollected that Mrs. Field—one of those impracticable women on whom the shafts of school officers were lost, and who was always wandering in the town—had been seen going out, leaving two small children playing about, the younger under the charge of the elder. The father was a carter, and had been sent on some errand with the horses.

This passed while anxious hands were struggling with stones and earth, foremost among them Alexis White. The utmost care was needful to prevent the superincumbent weight from falling in and crushing the life there certainly was beneath, happily not the rock from above, but some of the debris of the stable. Frank Stebbing and the foreman had to drive back anxious crowds, and keep a clear space.

Then came running, shrieking, pushing her way through the men, the poor mother, who had to be forcibly withheld by Miss Mohun and one of the men from precipitating herself on the pile of rubbish where her children were buried, and so shaking it as to make their destruction certain.

Those were terrible moments; but when the mother’s voice penetrated to the children, a voice answered—

‘Mammy, mammy get us out, there’s a stone on Tommy,’—at least so the poor woman understood the lispings, almost stifled; and she shrieked again, ‘Mammy’s coming, darlings!’

The time seemed endless, though it was probably only a few minutes before it was found that the children were against the angle of the shed, where the wall and a beam had protected the younger, a little girl of five, who seemed to be unhurt. But, alas! though the boy’s limbs were not crushed, a heavy stone had fallen on his temple.

The poor woman would not believe that life was gone. She disregarded the little one, who screamed for mammy and clutched her skirts, in spite of the attempts of the women to lift her up and comfort her; and gathering the poor lifeless boy in her arms, she alternately screamed for the doctor and uttered coaxing, caressing calls to the child.

She neither heard nor heeded Miss Mohun, with whom, indeed, her relations had not been agreeable; and as a young surgeon, sniffing the accident from afar, had appeared on the scene, and had, at the first glance, made an all too significant gesture, Jane thought it safe to leave the field to him and a kind, motherly, good neighbour, who promised her to send up to Beechcroft Cottage in case there was anything to be done for the unhappy woman or the poor father. Mr. Hablot, who now found his way to the spot, promised to walk on and prepare him: he was gone with a marble cross to a churchyard some five miles off.

Gillian had not spoken a word all this time. She felt perfectly stunned and bewildered, as if it was a dream, and she could not understand it. Only for a moment did she see the bleeding face and prone limbs of the poor boy, and that sent a shuddering horror over her, so that she felt like fainting; but she had so much recollection and self-consciousness, that horror of causing a sensation and giving trouble sent the blood back to her heart, and she kept her feet by holding hard to her aunt’s arm and presently Miss Mohun felt how tight and trembling was the grasp, and then saw how white she was.

‘My dear, we must get home directly,’ she said kindly. ‘Lean on me—there.’

There was leisure now, as they turned away, for others to see the young lady’s deadly paleness, and there were invitations to houses and offers of all succours at hand, but the dread of ‘a fuss’ further revived Gillian, and all that was accepted was a seat for a few moments and a glass of water, which Aunt Jane needed almost as much as she did.

Though the girl’s colour was coming back, and she said she could walk quite well, both had such aching knees and such shaken limbs that they were glad to hold by each other as they mounted the sloping road, and half-way up Gillian came to a sudden stop.

‘Aunt Jane,’ she said, panting and turning pale again, ‘you heard that dreadful man. Oh! do you think it was true? Fergus’s bit of spar—Alexis not minding. Oh! then it is all our doing!’

‘I can’t tell. Don’t you think about it now,’ said Aunt Jane, feeling as if the girl were going to swoon on the spot in the shock. ‘Consequences are not in our hands. Whatever it came from, and very sad it was, there was great mercy, and we have only to thank God it was no worse.’

When at last aunt and niece reached home, they had no sooner opened the front door than Adeline came almost rushing out of the drawing-room.

‘Oh! my dearest Jane,’ she cried, clasping and kissing her sister, ‘wasn’t it dreadful? Where were you? Mr. White knows no one was hurt below, but I could not be easy till you came in.’

‘Mr. White!’

‘Yes; Mr. White was so kind as to come and tell me—and about Rotherwood.’

‘What about Rotherwood?’ exclaimed Miss Mohun, advancing into the drawing-room, where Mr. White had risen from his seat.

‘Nothing to be alarmed about. Indeed, I assure you, his extraordinary presence of mind and agility—’

‘What was it?’ as she and Gillian each sank into a chair, the one breathless, the other with the faintness renewed by the fresh shock, but able to listen as Mr. White told first briefly, then with more detail, how—as the surveying party proceeded along the path at the top of the cliffs, he and Lord Rotherwood comparing recollections of the former outline, now much changed by quarrying—the Marquis had stepped out to a slightly projecting point; Mr. Stebbing had uttered a note of warning, knowing how liable these promontories were to break away in the end of winter, and happily Lord Rotherwood had turned and made a step or two back, when the rock began to give way under his feet, so that, being a slight and active man, a spring and bound forward had actually carried him safely to the firm ground, and the others, who had started back in self-preservation, then in horror, fully believing him borne down to destruction, saw him the next instant lying on his face on the path before them. When on his feet, he had declared himself unhurt, and solely anxious as to what the fall of rock might have done beneath; but he was reassured by those cries of ‘All right’ which were uttered before the poor little Fields were discovered; and then, when the party were going to make their way down to inspect the effects of the catastrophe, he had found that he had not escaped entirely unhurt. Of course he had been forced to leap with utter want of heed, only as far and wide as he could, and thus, though he had lighted on his feet, he had fallen against a stone, and pain and stiffness of shoulder made themselves apparent; though he would accept no help in walking back to the hotel, and was only anxious not to frighten his wife and daughter, and desired Mr. White, who had volunteered to go, to tell the ladies next door that he was convinced it was nothing, or, if anything, only a trifle of a collar-bone. Mr. White had, since the arrival of the surgeon, made an expedition of inquiry, and heard this verdict confirmed, with the further assurance that there was no cause for anxiety. The account of the damage and disaster below was new to him, as his partner had declared the stables to be certain to be empty, and moreover in need of being rebuilt; and he departed to find Mr. Stebbing and make inquiries.

Miss Mohun, going to the hotel, saw the governess, and heard that all was going on well, and that Lord Rotherwood insisted that nothing was the matter, and would not hear of going to bed, but was lying on the sofa in the sitting-room. Her ladyship presently came out, and confirmed the account; but Jane agreed with her that, if possible, the knowledge of the poor child’s death should be kept from him that night, lest the shock should make him feverish. However, in that very moment when she was off guard, the communication had been made by his valet, only too proud to have something to tell, and with the pleasing addition that Miss Mohun had had a narrow escape. Whereupon ensued an urgent message to Miss Mohun to come and tell him all about it.

Wife and cousin exchanged glances of consternation, and perhaps each knew she might be thankful that he did not come himself instead of sending, and yet feared that the abstinence was a proof more of incapacity than of submission.

Lying there in a dressing-gown over a strapped shoulder, he showed his agitation by being more than usually unable to finish a sentence.

‘Jenny, Jenny—you are—are you all safe? not frightened?’

‘Oh no, no, I was a great way off; I only heard the noise, and I did not know you were there.’

‘Ah! there must be—something must be meant for me to do. Heaven must mean—thank Him! But is it true—a poor child? Can’t one ever be foolish without hurting more than one’s self?’

Jane told him the truth calmly and quietly, explaining that the survivor was entirely unhurt, and the poor little victim could not have suffered; adding with all her heart, ‘The whole thing was full of mercy, and I do not think you need blame yourself for heedlessness, for it was an accident that the place was not marked.’

‘Shameful neglect’ said Lady Rotherwood.

‘The partner—what’s-his-name—Stebbing—said something about his son being away. An untrustworthy substitute, wasn’t there?’ said Lord Rotherwood.

‘The son was the proficient in Leopardine Italian we heard of last night,’ said Jane. ‘I don’t know what he may be as an overlooker here. He certainly fell furiously on the substitute, a poor cousin of Mr. White’s own, but I am much afraid the origin of the mischief was nearer home—Master Fergus’s geological researches.’

‘Fergus! Why, he is a mite.’

‘Yes, but Maurice encore. However, I must find out from him whether this is only a foreboding of my prophetic soul!’

‘Curious cattle,’ observed Lord Rotherwood.

‘Well,’ put in his wife, ‘I do not think Ivinghoe has ever given us cause for anxiety.’

‘Exactly the reason that I am always expecting him to break out in some unexpected place! No, Victoria,’ he added, seeing that she did not like this, ‘I am quite ready to allow that we have a model son, and I only pity him for not having a model father.’

‘Well, I am not going to stay and incite you to talk nonsense,’ said Jane, rising to depart; ‘I will let you know my discoveries.’

She found Fergus watching for her at the gate, with the appeal, ‘Aunt Jane, there’s been a great downfall of cliff, and I want to see what formations it has brought to light, but they won’t let me through to look at it, though I told them White always did.’

‘I do not suppose that they will allow any one to meddle with it at present,’ said Aunt Jane; then, as Fergus made an impatient exclamation, she added, ‘Do you know that a poor little boy was killed, and Cousin Rotherwood a good deal hurt?’

‘Yes,’ said Fergus, ‘Big Blake said so.’

‘And now, Fergus, I want to know where you took that large stone from that you showed me with the crack of spar.’

‘With the micaceous crystals,’ corrected Fergus. ‘It was off the top of that very cliff that fell down, so I am sure there must be more in it; and some one else will get them if they won’t let me go and see for them.’

‘And Alexis White gave you leave to take it?’

‘Oh yes, I always ask him.’

‘Were you at the place when you asked him, Fergus?’

‘At the place on the cliff? No. For I couldn’t find him for a long time, and I carried it all the way down the steps.’

‘And you did not tell him where it came from?’

‘He didn’t ask. Indeed, Aunt Jane, I always did show him what I took, and he would have let me in now, only he was not at the office; and the man at the gate, Big Blake, was as savage as a bear, and slammed the door on me, and said they wouldn’t have no idle boys loafing about there. And when I said I wasn’t an idle boy but a scientific mineralogist, and that Mr. Alexis White always let me in, he laughed in my face, and said Mr. Alexis had better look out for himself. I shall tell Stebbing how cheeky he was.’

‘My dear Fergus, there was good reason for keeping you out. You did not know it, nor Alexis; but those stones were put to show that the cliff was getting dangerous, and to mark where to put an iron fence; and it was the greatest of mercies that Rotherwood’s life was saved.’

The boy looked a little sobered, but his aunt had rather that his next question had not been: ‘Do you think they will let me go there again!’

However, she knew very well that conviction must slowly soak in, and that nothing would be gained by frightening him, so that all she did that night was to send a note by Mysie to her cousin, explaining her discovery; and she made up her mind to take Fergus to the inquest the next day, since his evidence would exonerate Alexis from the most culpable form of carelessness.

Only, however, in the morning, when she had ascertained the hour of the inquest, did she write a note to Mrs. Edgar to explain Fergus’s absence from school, or inform the boy of what she intended. On the whole he was rather elated at being so important as to be able to defend Alexis White, and he was quite above believing that scientific research could be reckoned by any one as mischief.

Just as Miss Mohun had gone up to get ready, Mysie ran in to say that Cousin Rotherwood would be at the door in a moment to take Fergus down.

‘Lady Rotherwood can’t bear his going,’ said Mysie, ‘and Mr. White and Mr. Stebbing say that he need not; but he is quite determined, though he has got his arm in a sling, for he says it was all his fault for going where he ought not. And he won’t have the carriage, for he says it would shake his bones ever so much more than Shank’s mare.’

‘Just like him,’ said Aunt Jane. ‘Has Dr. Dagger given him leave?’

‘Yes; he said it wouldn’t hurt him; but Lady Rotherwood told Miss Elbury she was sure he persuaded him.’

Mysie’s confused pronouns were cut short by Lord Rotherwood’s own appearance.

‘You need not go, Jane,’ he said. ‘I can take care of this little chap. They’ll not chop off his head in the presence of one of the Legislature.’

‘Nice care to begin by chaffing him out of his wits,’ she retorted. ‘The question is, whether you ought to go.’

‘Yes, Jenny, I must go. It can’t damage me; and besides, to tell the truth, it strikes me that things will go hard with that unlucky young fellow if some one is not there to stand up for him and elicit Fergus’s evidence.’

‘Alexis White!’

‘White—ay, a cousin or something of the exemplary boss. He’s been dining with his partners—the old White, I mean—and they’ve been cramming him—I imagine with a view to scapegoat treatment—jealousy, and all the rest of it. If there is not a dismissal, there’s a hovering on the verge.’

‘Exactly what I was afraid of,’ said Jane. ‘Oh, Rotherwood, I could tell you volumes. But may I not come down with you? Could not I do something?’

‘Well, on the whole, you are better away, Jenny. Consider William’s feelings. Womankind, even Brownies, are better out of it. Prejudice against proteges, whether of petticoats or cassocks—begging your pardon. I can fight battles better as an unsophisticated stranger coming down fresh, though I don’t expect any one from the barony of Beechcroft to believe it, and maybe the less I know of your volumes the better till after—

‘Oh, Rotherwood, as if I wasn’t too thankful to have you to send for me!’

‘There! I’ve kept the firm out there waiting an unconscionable time. They’ll think you are poisoning my mind. Come along, you imp of science. Trust me, I’ll not bully him, though it’s highly tempting to make the chien chasser de race.’

‘Oh, Aunt Jane, won’t you go?’ exclaimed Gillian in despair, as her cousin waved a farewell at the gate.

‘No, my dear; it is not for want of wishing, but he is quite right. He can do much better than I could.’

‘But is he in earnest, aunt?’

‘Oh yes, most entirely, and I quite see that he is right—indeed I do, Gillian. People pretend to defer to a lady, but they really don’t like her poking her nose in, and, after all, I could have no right to say anything. My only excuse for going was to take care of Fergus.’

A further token of Lord Rotherwood’s earnestness in the cause was the arrival of his servant, who was to bring down the large stone which Master Merrifield had moved, and who conveyed it in a cab, being much too grand to carry it through the streets.

Gillian was very unhappy and restless, unable to settle to anything, and linking cause and effect together disconsolately in a manner Mysie, whom she admitted to her confidence, failed to understand.

‘It was a great pity Fergus did not show Alexis where the stone came from, but I don’t see what your not giving him his lessons had to do with it. Made him unhappy? Oh! Gilly dear, you don’t mean any one would be too unhappy to mind his business for such nonsense as that! I am sure none of us would be so stupid if Mr. Pollock forgot our Greek lessons.’

‘Certainly not,’ said Gillian, almost laughing; ‘but you don’t understand, Mysie. It was the taking him up and letting him down, and I could not explain it, and it looked so nasty and capricious.’

‘Well, I suppose you ought to have asked Aunt Jane’s leave; but I do think he must be a ridiculous young man if he could not attend to his proper work because you did not go after him when you were only just come home.’

‘Ah, Mysie, you don’t understand!’

Mysie opened a round pair of brown eyes, and said, ‘Oh! I did think people were never so silly out of poetry. There was Wilfrid in Hokeby, to be sure. He was stupid enough about Matilda; but do you mean that he is like that!’

‘Don’t, don’t, you dreadful child; I wish I had never spoken to you,’ cried Gillian, overwhelmed with confusion. ‘You must never say a word to any living creature.’

‘I am sure I shan’t,’ said Mysie composedly; ‘for, as far as I can see, it is all stuff. This Alexis never found out what Fergus was about with the stone, and so the mark was gone, and Cousin Rotherwood trod on it, and the poor little boy was killed; but as to the rest, Nurse Halfpenny would say it was all conceited maggots; and how you can make so much more fuss about that than about the poor child being crushed, I can’t make out.’

‘But if I think it all my fault?’

‘That’s maggots,’ returned Mysie with uncompromising common-sense. ‘You aren’t old enough, nor pretty enough, for any of that kind of stuff, Gill!’

And Gillian found that either she must go without comprehension, or have a great deal more implied, if she turned for sympathy to any one save Aunt Jane, who seemed to know exactly how the land lay.