With something akin to a shock he remembered the truth—how he had stood on the edge of the cliff, and how Martin and Toglet had bumped up against him and shoved him over.
"I believe they did it on purpose," he thought. "The villains! What was their object?"
By the darkness Ralph knew it was night, but what time of night he could not tell. Luckily, he had not worn his new watch. The old one was battered, and had stopped.
Presently the bruised and bewildered boy was able to take note of his surroundings, and then he shuddered to think how narrowly he had escaped death.
He had caught in a small tree which grew half way down the side of the cliff, and his head struck on a stone resting between two of the limbs of the tree. Below him was a dark space many feet in depth, above him was a projecting wall of the cliff which hid the top from view.
What to do he did not know. He wished to get either to the top or the bottom of the wall as soon as possible, but he did not dare make the effort in his feeble condition and without the aid of daylight.
"I must remain here until dawn," he concluded. "I can do nothing until I can see my way."
To prevent himself from falling should he grow faint or doze off, he tied himself to the limbs of the tree with several bits of cord he happened to have in his pocket.
Hour after hour went by, and he sat there, alternately nursing his wounds and clutching his aching head, and wondering why the two men had treated him so cruelly. Never once did he suspect that they were the hirelings of Squire Paget.
"They did not rob me," he said to himself, after he had searched his pockets and found his money and other valuables safe. "And yet I am positive that it was not an accident."