It was to this spot that I persuaded Clarissa to trust herself that we should have our talk alone.
"People might come," said I. "I don't want you to get into trouble."
The descent was not quite so difficult as it looked; though I remember the first time when I saw Bellwattle disappear over the cliff side and vanish out of sight, I almost thought she had gone for ever. Now I started slowly first, pointing out the footholds for Clarissa's little feet. Dandy went before us, doing the journey six times over; running back again and again to show us how easy it was.
It is wonderful the way an animal will take for granted whatsoever situation may come its way. He asked me no questions about Clarissa, showed no surprise that we should know or meet each other there. The adventure it was with him. The adventure it was with me as well, and the sense in my mind that this little creature, with her shy and timid voice, did not belong to me, gave me all the hardihood of a buccaneer, the very daring of a highwayman. It made, in fact, the thrill of a great romance go tingling in my veins.
As we came to our plateau of rock, a white cloud of sea-birds—herring and black-backed gulls, guillemots, every kind and variety—rose with a rushing burr of wings from their resting-places. Dandy stood there bewildered, looking after them, his eyes in every direction at once.
"Now," said I, when we were seated, "we can talk here till doomsday without interruption," and although I heard the things I said falling easily from my lips, I was by this becoming so nervous and confused in my mind that thoughts would not shape themselves. I could not conceive what to speak of next. It failed me utterly to begin.
It was an odd little silence that came between us then. Even Dandy did not offer to smooth matters out, for I had told him there was to be no jumping. He simply lay, therefore, full-stretched upon the rock where the sun had warmed it, inviting it to warm him in turn. And all that time I kept looking at the sea, then at her, lastly at Dandy, then back once more to the sea.
She appeared so strange with that heavy black veil falling in folds from the rim of her straw hat. It seemed in my mind as if I had known her so long, so well, and yet, not even then, as she sat beside me on those wild cliffs, had I ever seen her face. It is not seeing a woman, to have nothing but a hat and a veil, a skirt and a pair of boots to look at. All that I knew of her was the touch of her hand and, much as it may have meant on our meeting that first night upon the cliffs, it was ill-sufficient for me now. Indeed, I was not content with it; so, leaning forward, at last I broke the silence, asking her to take off her veil.
"Surely you can't shut out the sun for ever," said I.
"I'm so afraid," she answered. "If any one saw me and told the Miss Fennells."