“Curse them!” cried Abel, as he reached the other side of the point, and saw that which his sister had seen from the cliff behind the cottage.
“What for now?” said Bart, stolidly, as he reached his companion’s side. “Hum, that’s it, is it?”
He looked round him for a fresh way of escape.
There was the sea, if they liked to leap in and swim; but they could be easily overtaken. The rocks above them were too overhanging to climb, and there was no other way, unless they returned, and tried to rush through their pursuers; for beyond the point the tide beat upon the cliff.
“No good, Bart; we’re trapped,” said Abel, stolidly. “I’ll never forgive her—never!”
“Yes, you will,” said Bart, sitting down on a rock, and carefully taking off his fur cap to wipe his heated brow. “You will some day. Why, I could forgive her anything—I could. She’s a wonderful gell; but, I say, my hips is werry sore.”
He sat staring down at the boat beyond the point, the anchor having been taken on board, and the oars being out to keep her off the rocks, as she rose and fell with the coming tide.
“No!” said Abel, bitterly. “I’ll never forgive her—never!”
“Nay, lad, don’t say that,” said Bart, rubbing one side. “Hey, lass! There she is. Top o’ the cliff. Look at her, mate.”
“No,” said Abel; “let her look—at her cowardly work.”