"No, Polly," he answered, and she caught the tone of despair in his voice.
"I—I don't want you to stay with me any longer," she faltered. "I—I'd rather you'd go. It would be dreadful for Aunt Janie and Uncle John if you were drowned. It's no good your staying."
Edgar made no response, and he did not move. Escape was so easy for him, but he had no intention of leaving his cousin to her fate, and all that was noblest and best in his character arose to kill the selfish desire for personal safety against which he had been fighting since Roger had gone.
"Are you not going?" the little girl asked by-and-by. "No?" she said wonderingly as he shook his head.
"You mean to say you will stay even when the sea comes up to the ledge? Oh, you must not!"
"It's very brave of you to speak like that," he replied earnestly, "but I'm not going to leave you. I'm not such a coward as you think. I mean to wait with you till—till Roger comes with a boat to rescue us."
She made no answer in words, but the look she gave him was eloquent of the deepest gratitude, not unmixed with admiration, for, at that moment, he appeared a veritable hero in her sight. She crept close to him and caught his hand in her chill, trembling fingers, and thus they crouched together for a while longer, watching the white-winged sea gulls passing to and fro, and ever and again turning their anxious eyes in the direction from which help must come.
At last, when the tide was within a few inches of the ledge of rock, a boat appeared in sight, and springing to his feet, Edgar pulled out his handkerchief and waved it wildly.
"Take care!" cried Polly. "Don't fall! Oh, don't fall!"
"Is the boat corning for us, do you think?"