"I shall do no such thing," he declared stoutly. "But I do think you're very silly and—and unkind not to try to climb a short distance. Would you rather stay here and let us both be drowned?"
"No, no! But my foot hurts me so dreadfully if I rest on it."
"If you could manage to get as far as there," Edgar said persuasively, indicating a ledge of rock not far above their heads, "we should be safe for another half-hour; do try, Polly. See—" and he climbed a few feet up the cliff, "give me your hand, and try to bear the pain."
There was a minute or two of great anxiety as Polly, driven to desperation, clutched his hand, and, with many exclamations and groans, scrambled after him and perched herself on the ledge, by his side, in comparative safety.
"Oh, my foot!" she sobbed, as she leaned against the cliff and tenderly felt her injured ankle. "Oh, I'm so giddy! I dare not look down."
"Well, don't," he replied. "I'm sorry your foot is hurting you so much, but aren't you glad you're here?"
"Yes, of course I am. I—I don't want to be drowned. Oh, surely we shall see a boat coming soon! What can Roger be doing to be so long?"
"It isn't long, really but it seems a great while."
There was silence after that for some time; still there was no sign of the expected boat. Polly was crying hopelessly now, and Edgar felt very inclined to do the same; but he manfully strove to retain his composure and to hearten his companion. Venturing to peep downwards at length, the little girl was horrified to note how high the water had risen—very soon it would reach them again.
"Edgar, I can't climb any higher," she said tremulously, "I really can't."