He took a firm grip of the child’s blouse in his teeth, and, steadying himself with infinite difficulty, fastened the rope beneath his own arms, in the strongest knots that he could make. Then, using his hands as a trumpet, he called “Ready!”
His left arm was round Pauly, his right grasped the rope above his head. “Now hold tight, little chap, and don’t be frightened!”
Pauly carried out this order by taking as good a grip as the hair-cutter allowed of Hugh’s head, and it was in this position that the two were at length hauled over the parapet by the united strength of the Vicar, Hiram, and the Vicarage gardener, whom Mr. Seaton had met while searching for a rope.
Mr. Seaton wrung Hugh’s hand in silence, and held his son to him, in silence also. No one seemed to have much voice for speech just then; even Pauly was subdued and shaken by his fall, though he had escaped with nothing worse than grazed knees.
The descent from the tower was very quiet and sober. A strong shudder went through the party as they passed the belfry chamber and thought about the awful moment when they had realised that the ropes were gone.
His father carried Pauly, and Hugh went in front of Sydney and Miss Osric, and gave them his hand where the ladders turned. He and Sydney never spoke the whole way down.
They were in the churchyard at last, and Pauly was demanding to be shown “the funny little step where me and him was standing.” The Vicar, shivering, hushed him, and turned to Hugh. “You’ll come in and lunch with me?” he said, a little huskily, his hand upon the young man’s shoulder.
“Thank you, I will,” Hugh answered gravely.
“And, Sydney, we must hurry back,” Miss Osric suggested. “I am sure it is getting late.”
Sydney moved a step away; then took a sudden resolution.