“Show me the place where you left Miss Mallow,” said Magnus at last.
“All right,” was the reply; “but wouldn’t it be better if we went up the cliff and walked along the edge? I want to see where that scoundrel came up; and we might meet him.”
James Magnus looked intently in his friend’s countenance, and could not help noticing how hard and fixed the expression had become.
“It would not tire you too much?” he said.
“Oh no,” replied Magnus, hastily, “let us do as you say.”
Artingale noted the flush that came into his companion’s face, and he could see that it was more due to excitement and returning health than to fever. And then, saying little but thinking a great deal of their plans, they strolled on and on, leaving town and castle behind, and having the glistening, ever-changing sea on one side, the undulating spread of well-wooded hills and valleys in the Sussex weald upon their left; but far as eye could reach no sign of human being.
“These cliffs are much higher than I thought for,” said Artingale at last, as he stopped for a moment to gaze down at the beach. “How little the people look. See there, Mag, those stones lying below, you would not think they were as high as you? Some of them weigh tons.”
“Was it on one of those you left Miss Mallow seated?” said Magnus, eagerly.
“Oh no, quite half a mile farther on, more or less. I don’t know, though, seashore distances are deceitful. That was the pile, I think,” he continued, pointing, “there, below where you see that dark streak on the face of the cliff.”
“I see,” said Magnus. “Come along.”