The Witch's Head. H. Rider Haggard
Читать онлайн книгу.
of the astonished bittern and bounded off on to the floor, finally rolling under a box full of choice specimens of petrified bones of antediluvian animals that had been washed out of the cliffs. The box was lugged out of the way with difficulty, and the shilling disclosed.
“Heads it is!” said Ernest exultingly.
“I expected as much; just my luck. Well, shake hands, Ernest. We won't quarrel about the girl, please God.”
They shook hands heartily enough and parted; but from that time for many a long day there was an invisible something between them that had not been there before. Strong indeed must be the friendship of which the bonds do not slacken when the shadow of a woman's love falls upon it.
That afternoon Dorothy said that she wanted to go into Kesterwick to make some purchases, and Ernest offered to accompany her. They walked in silence as far as Titheburgh Abbey; indeed, they both suffered from a curious constraint that seemed effectually to check their usual brother-and-sister-like relations. Ernest was just beginning to feel the silence awkward when Dorothy stopped.
“What was that?” she said. “I thought I heard somebody cry out.”
They listened, and presently both heard a woman's voice calling for help. The sound seemed to come from the cliff on their left. They stepped to the edge and looked over. As may be remembered, some twenty feet from the top of the cliff, and fifty or more from the bottom, there was at this spot a sandy ledge, on which were deposited many of the remains washed out of the churchyard by the sea. Now, this particular spot was almost inaccessible without ladders, because, although it was easy enough to get down to its level, the cliff bulged out on either side of it, and gave for the space of some yards little or no hold for the hands or feet of the climber.
The first thing that caught Ernest's eyes when he looked over was a lady's foot and ankle, which appeared to be resting on a tiny piece of rock that projected from the surface of the cliff; the next was the imploring face of Eva Ceswick, who was sprawling in a most undignified position on the bulge of sandstone, with nothing more between her and eternity than the very unsatisfactory and insufficient knob of rock. It was evident that she could move neither one way or the other without being precipitated to the bottom of the cliff, to which she was apparently clinging by suction like a fly.
“Great God!” exclaimed Ernest. “Hold on, I will come to you.”
“I can't hold much longer.”
It was one thing to say that he would come, and another to do it. The sand gave scarcely any foothold; how was he to get enough purchase to pull Eva round the bulge? He looked at Dorothy in despair. Her quick mind had taken in the situation at a glance.
“You must get down there above her, Ernest, and lie flat, and stretch out your hand to her.”
“But there is nothing to hold to. When she puts her weight on to my hand we shall both go together.”
“No, I will hold your legs. Be quick, she is getting exhausted.”
It took Ernest but two seconds to reach the spot that Dorothy had pointed to, and to lay himself flat, or rather slanting, for his heels were a great deal higher than his head. Fortunately, he discovered a hard knob of sandstone, against which he could rest his left hand. Meanwhile, Dorothy, seating herself as securely as she could above, seized him by the ankles. Then Ernest stretched his hand downwards, and, gripping Eva by the wrist, began to put out his strength. Had the three found any time to indulge their sense of humour, they might have found the appearance they presented intensely ludicrous; but they did not, for the very good reason that for thirty seconds or so their lives were not worth a farthing's purchase. Ernest strained and strained, but Eva was a large woman, although she danced so lightly, and the bulge over which he had to pull her was almost perpendicular. Presently he felt that Dorothy was beginning to slip above him.
“She must make an effort, or we shall all go,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Drive your knees into the sand and throw yourself forward, it is your only chance!” gasped Ernest to the exhausted girl beneath him.
She realised the meaning of his words, and gave a desperate struggle.
“Pull, Doll; for God's sake, pull! she's coming.”
Then followed a second of despairing effort, and she was beside him on the spot where he lay; another struggle and the three sank exhausted on the top of the cliff, rescued from a most imminent death.
“By Jove!” ejaculated Ernest, “that was a near thing!”
Dorothy nodded; she was too exhausted to speak. Eva smiled and fainted.
He turned to her with a little cry and began to chafe her cold hands.
“Oh, she's dead, Doll!” he said.
“No, she has fainted. Give me your hat.”
Before he could do so she had seized it, and was running as quickly as her exhaustion would allow towards a spring that bubbled up a hundred yards away, and which once had been the water supply of the old abbey.
Ernest went on rubbing for a minute or more, but without producing the slightest effect. He was in despair. The beautiful face beneath him looked so wan and death-like; all the red had left her lips. In his distress, and scarcely knowing what he did, he bent over them and kissed them, once, twice, thrice. That mode of restoration is not recommended in the medicine chest “guide,” but in this instance it was not without its effect. Presently a faint and tremulous glow diffused itself over the pale cheek; in another moment it deepened to a most unmistakable blush. (Was it a half-consciousness of Ernest's new method of treatment, or merely the returning blood that produced the blush? Let us not inquire.) Next Eva sighed, opened her eyes, and sat up.
“Oh, you are not dead!”
“No, I don't think so, but I can't quite remember. What was it? Ah, I know”; and she shut her eyes, as though to keep out some horrid sight. Presently she opened them again. “You have saved my life,” she said. “If it had not been for you, I should have now been lying crushed at the foot of that dreadful cliff. I am so grateful.”
At that moment Dorothy came back with a little water in Ernest's black hat, for in her hurry she had spilled most of it.
“Here, drink some of this,” she said.
Eva tried to do so; but a billycock hat is not a very convenient drinking vessel till you get used to it, and she upset more than she swallowed. But what she drank did her good. She put down the hat, and they all three laughed a little; it was so funny drinking out of an old hat.
“Were you long down there before we came?” asked Dorothy.
“No, not long; only about half a minute on that dreadful bulge.”
“What on earth did you go there for?” said Ernest, putting his dripping hat on to his head, for the sun was hot.
“I wanted to see the bones. I am very active, and thought that I could get up quite safely; but sand is so slippery. Oh, I forgot; look here”; and she pointed to a thin cord that was tied to her wrist.
“What is that?”
“Why, it is tied to such an odd lead box that I found in the sand. Mr. Jones said the other day that he thought it was a bit of an old coffin, but it is not, it is a lead box with a rusty iron handle. I could not move it much; but I had this bit of cord with me—I thought I might want it getting down, you know—so I tied one end of it to the handle.”
“Let us pull it up,” said Ernest, unfastening the cord from Eva's wrist, and beginning to tug.
But the case was too heavy for him to lift alone; indeed, it proved as much as they could all three manage to drag it to the top. However, up it came at last. Ernest examined it carefully, and came to the conclusion that it was very ancient. The massive iron handle at the top of the oblong case was almost eaten through with rust, and the lead itself was much corroded, although, from fragments that still clung to it, it was evident that it had once been protected by an outer