“No, no!” cried Max huskily; “I’d rather not.”
“She says she shall not come,” cried Scoodrach.
“Then let him stay where he is,” came from below. “Come and have a look, Scood.”
To Max’s horror, the gillie went down on his knees, seized the rope, and passed over the edge; Max watching his grinning countenance as he lowered himself down, with first his chest and then his face disappearing, lastly the worsted tuft on the top of his Tam o’ Shanter; and there was nothing to see but the pulsating rope, and the sea, sky, and blue mountains on the other side of the loch.
And now a strong desire to take his foot from the anchor, and creep to the edge of the cliff and look down, came over Max. He wanted to see Scoodrach descend to the shelf of rock and join Kenneth. He wanted, too, to look upon the falcon’s nest; for, after seeing these two descend so bravely, by a sudden reaction he felt ashamed of his own nervousness, and was ready to show them that he was not so cowardly after all.
All this was momentary; and there the rope kept on vibrating and the anchor jarred as Scoodrach descended; while, as Max pressed the stock down, and it rose and fell like a spring beneath his foot, he kept his eyes fixed upon the edge of the cliff, where the rope seemed to end, when there was a dull twang, as if the string of some gigantic instrument had snapped, and, to his horror, the rope rose from the top of the cliff as if alive, and struck and coiled round him with a stinging pain.