“Then why——” she began.
He checked her with an imperious:
“Hush—say no more! My pride has been galled enough of late years. Don’t let me have to take any but pleasant memories from here.”
Florence glanced at his darkening face. She had never before heard him allude to the clouds that had shadowed his early life, and she wisely diverted his thoughts into pleasanter channels. But whether she dived into the wood they were passing through, to peep into a bird’s nest, or challenged him to races, or hid from him in some bosky dingle, she always came back to his side with a softer, sweeter smile on her lip, a more caressing gentleness in her manner, as if she sought to make him amends for having evoked such unpleasant recollections.
Her wanderings made their ramble a long one, but at last they reached the spot where the rare fern was growing which she was desirous of possessing. While Frank Dormer dug carefully around the roots she ran to the edge of the bank, or cliff, which rose here almost perpendicularly from the river to so great a height that he grew uneasy, and shouted a caution to the adventurous girl.
“Take care, Florence; you are too rash. A fall from that cliff would be almost certain death!”
The warning had scarcely passed his lips when she turned round to answer him, and disappeared. A large stone had given way, carrying her light form with it. White with horror, he rushed madly to the place, expecting to see her mangled form lying on the sharp rocks which lined the bed of the river, or whirled away by the resistless current.
But the face of Florence, ghastly as his own, looked up at him from a tuft of heather, about halfway down the cliff, to which she was clinging with the tenacity of despair. He clenched his hands; his heart almost ceased to beat. He could not reach her, and to attempt to descend would be to hurl her from her frail support. Only by making his way to the foot of the bank, which involved a detour of a quarter of a mile, could he climb to where she clung and assist her descent. But the heather was already yielding to her weight, and—frightened child that she was—would she have the courage to retain her hold until he could come to her aid?
He spoke to her sharply and firmly.
“Florence, do you hear me? Can you listen, and do precisely as I tell you?”