Leycester needed no further prompting, and the boat sped back. By the time they had gained the shore a crowd had collected, and Leycester felt, rather than saw, that the motionless, lifeless form that had haunted him from its place at the bottom of the boat was carried off—felt, rather than was conscious, that he was speeding up the cliff followed by the landlord and half-a-dozen fishermen.
Silent and breathless they gained the top, and stood for a moment uncertain; then Leycester saw one of them step forward with a rope.
"Now, mates," the old man said, "which of us goes down?"
There was a moment's silence, then Leycester stepped forward and took up the rope.
"I," he said.
It was but a word, but no one ventured to dispute his decision.
Quietly and calmly they fastened the rope round his waist, leaving a loop lower down. He had left his coat in the boat, and stood bareheaded for a moment. The old man stood beside him, calm and grave.
"Hold tight, sir," he said; "and if—if—you find him, sling the rope round him and give the word."
Leycester nodded, held up his hand, and the next moment was swinging in the air. Slowly and steadily, inch by inch, they lowered him down the awful depths amidst a death-like silence. Suddenly his voice broke it, coming up to them in one word—
"Stop!"