“‘Quick with the ropes!’ was all he said.”
Sydney and Miss Osric looked at one another. “The belfry ropes are gone!”
Before they had finished speaking, Mr. Seaton was tearing in a neck-or-nothing fashion down the ladders. It was well for him that he was forced to act, and not wait to think. Ropes must be got, and immediately, for what ladder would be long enough? He did not even cast one glance back at the tower as he rushed through the churchyard in search of a rope.
There was nothing that Miss Osric and Sydney had the power to do but wait and pray. They clung to one another silently, with set, white faces, as Hugh commenced his difficult and dangerous descent, with one eye on the little figure, which might move and be dashed from its precarious resting-place at any moment. Was the child stunned? Hugh almost hoped he might be. Any movement must almost certainly be fatal to his balance.
But as the young man felt carefully his third step in that perilous climb, there was a quiver in the dark blue bundle on the gargoyle, and a scared little face was uplifted to his. The hearts of the girls above stood still.
Hugh was struggling desperately for a foothold which it seemed impossible to find. Would the child move, or look down? Should he do so, nothing could save him.
“It’s all right, old chap!” Hugh called in his cheeriest tone. “You just keep still where you are. Yes, that’s right; now look at me. I’m coming down to take you up again. No, don’t try and sit up—you can see me splendidly from where you are.”
His voice broke off, as he all but lost both hold and footing. He regained it with a frantic struggle and descended another step. “Look at me, Pauly!”