IT was about two o'clock when Hetty left the hut on the slope of the cliff path, and it was a little past three when Mr. Eyre reached it on his way home. He had had a most delightful walk, and his pockets were full of spoils, brought home for little Flo: flowers, sea-weeds, a deserted nest, feathers—every pretty thing that he had seen that was likely to please his little sick girl. There was no sound of talking as he drew near, so he entered quietly, thinking that the child was asleep.
But Flo was not there. The hut was deserted. The shawls used for covering her when she slept were on the ground—and there too was Zelica's basket, all bent and frayed. Also a wet paper and a lot of half-dead shrimps, some of them mashed up in a very unsightly manner, and Hetty's work; all these things lay here and there, but Flo, Hetty, and Zelica had vanished.
"The child must have been ill. Stay! there's the mark of a big dog's paw on the shawl! They have been frightened, and Hetty has taken her home to her mother."
Hastily gathering up the scattered articles, all save the shrimps, he began to descend the zigzag path rapidly. He turned the first corner, and—what was that at the bottom of the next descent? He flung away everything that he was carrying, and flew down the path. Yes—his fears were only too well justified! it was Flo lying on her face, and between her and the edge of the cliff sat a large black retriever, who looked up in the newcomer's face and whined. Then he put his nose to the child's head, and cried again.
John Eyre lifted his little one; her face was cut and scratched, and so were her poor little hands. But, oh! that was nothing to what he feared for her! How had she come there? She was quite insensible, and looking back he saw a scrap of her frock and one little soft shoe on the rough track; she had fallen and rolled down the steep incline—something had stopped her, perilously near the edge, over which she would otherwise have fallen eight or nine feet, coming down on the rocky surface of another division of the zigzag. It seemed as if the dog had stopped her; at all events, he was sitting between her and the edge.
But you may be sure that Mr. Eyre did not delay to decide the question. Carrying the child steadily, he hurried on, the dog running by his side, looking up with almost human anxiety in his face. He followed to the door of the lodgings, saw Flo carried in, and then ran off.
"Celia! Celia! come here. Oh, my dear, I can't take time to warn you—something has happened to Flo—she has fallen."
Mrs. Eyre was by his side. "John, is she dead?"
"No, no,—not dead. Let me lay her on her bed. See! She is only scratched—she moved then. Oh, Celia! The child is alive!"
Mrs. Eyre brought water, and opened the child's frock, which was all twisted round and round her. Flo opened her eyes,—but, alas! she did not seem to know them. She screamed, as if in terror, crying out,—