Pausing at a distance of some yards, the stranger stared hard at Pamela, and Pamela was so absorbed in staring at her in return that she nearly slid down the Beak into the sea.
"What is the matter?"
That was the first thing the double asked, and her voice was a little unexpected. It was rather deep, and she spoke slowly--carefully--with the least touch of something different in the accent.
Pamela cleared her throat; she felt nervous, she felt the least bit as though nothing were real.
"It's little Reube Ensor," she said, "he's hurt."
"Reube Ensor!" repeated the other girl with care, "how did he come upon this cliff?"
"He's only six. He got away from the other children coming from school. I suppose he wanted to climb. Anyway, he's hurt his foot awfully. I've been trying to get him up for ages, but it's appallingly difficult, because he's fainted and he can't do a thing for himself, you see."
She rushed the words with a sort of friendliness, yet all the while she was quite absorbed in the girl and hardly knew what it was she said.
"I shall help you," said the stranger; and came along in an active, sure-footed way, glancing about as she came.
Pamela crossed over Reube's small body to the right side, to make room for the other girl who, kneeling, looked at him, at his leg and foot--Pamela meanwhile looking at her.