Phil had got himself into danger, and Bertie had gone down to him with the rope, as described in the last chapter. This errand had been successfully accomplished, and Phil, by aid of the rope round his waist, had been able to climb up in safety to the top of the cliff.
Bertie meantime had remained quietly upon the ledge, not at all giddy or afraid, waiting for the rope to be let down to him.
David had not attempted to throw the end of the rope to him, as he was afraid of his getting giddy with attempts to catch at it, but had let it down its whole length and then swung it slowly backwards and forwards until it came within the boy’s grasp. When the right moment came, Bertie had seized it, and that successfully; but then happened a catastrophe they had not reckoned upon. The weight of the swinging rope had jerked the child from his precarious foothold, and although his fall had not been unbroken, owing to his grasp upon the rope, yet he had slipped down very fast, and when the rope stopped he had fallen with some violence upon the sand and stones beneath. Those above could not judge how far he had fallen, but could see that he lay still and motionless as if stunned or hurt; and, whilst David and Phil hurried down to his assistance, Queenie ran off to the farmhouse to give the alarm, and then, with more forethought than might have been expected from her years, she had had her pony saddled and had ridden off to Dr. Lighton’s, so that he might be there as soon as Bertie arrived.
It was impossible to gather from the little girl’s story what the amount of the injury was likely to be, but they were not kept long in suspense, for Phil came galloping up in a few minutes’ time, and, flinging himself off the pony, he rushed up to the Squire and cried,—
“He’s coming directly. Farmer Bayliss says he doesn’t think there’s much harm done, unless he’s broken his arm. He’s not dead, though he hasn’t opened his eyes yet, and he doesn’t seem much hurt.”
The next moment the pony cart turned in at the gate. David was driving, and a burly, jovial-looking farmer was sitting beside him, holding Bertie very tenderly in his arms.
“All right, I hope, Squire!” he called out, as soon as he saw the anxious group at the door. “He opened his eyes just now and spoke; but he seems dazed-like still, and not quite himself. I’m half afeared there’s a bone broke somewhere; but, considering the distance he fell, we must thank God things are no worse.”
He gave over his burden into the Squire’s arms, and Bertie was carried up-stairs and laid upon his own bed. Dr. Lighton and Mrs. Arbuthnot followed, and a look of keen interest was on the young doctor’s face as he noted that the child’s mother was beside him.
Bertie was not entirely unconscious, but in a dazed state that made it an effort to open his eyes or to rouse himself to a sense of his surroundings.
“Let him see you when he opens his eyes,” said Dr. Lighton to Mrs. Arbuthnot, and he signed to the Squire to keep in the background.