“Ahoy—ay!” came from somewhere below.
“It’s all right! He has gone down,” cried Kenneth. “Come along.”
“Where are you going?” said Max hesitatingly.
“Going? Down to our bathing-place; and, look here, as you are not used to it, don’t try to go out, for the tide runs pretty strong along here. Scood and I can manage, because we know the bearings, and where the eddies are, so as to get back. Here we are.”
He had led his companion to the very edge of the rock, where it descended perpendicularly to the sea, and apparently there was no farther progress to be made in that direction. In fact, so dangerous did it seem, that, as Kenneth quickly lowered himself over the precipice, Max, by an involuntary movement, started forward and made a clutch at his arm.
“Here! what are you doing?” cried Kenneth. “It’s all right. Now then, I’m here. Lower yourself over. Lay hold of that bit of stone. I’ll guide your feet. There’s plenty of room here.”
Max drew a long, catching breath, and his first thought was to run back to the house.
“Make haste!” cried Kenneth from somewhere below; and Max went down on his hands and knees to creep to the edge and look over, and see that the rock projected over a broad shelf, upon which the young Scot was standing looking up.
“Oh, I say, you are a rum chap!” cried Kenneth, laughing. “Legs first, same as I did; not your head.”
“But is it safe—for me?”