CHAPTER XXVII
AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE
Millicent had no intention of going to sleep among the rocks, but after a while she grew drowsy, and when at length she raised her head with a start the moon hung over the hills across the river, flooding the heights above her with a silvery light. The trees below were sharper in form, but everything was very still; only the thunder of the fall seemed to have increased in depth of tone. Millicent shivered from the cold as she sent a sharp cry ringing across the woods.
This time it was answered, and she recognized the voice. Looking down, she could see Lisle’s black figure moving cautiously along the ledge, for although the lower rocks were wrapped in shadow it is never altogether dark in the northern summer. Coming out into the moonlight, he examined the slab of rock which had arrested her descent, but when he spoke she was not quite pleased with his very matter-of-fact tone. It left something to be desired—she thought he might have displayed more satisfaction at finding her safe.
“Is there anything you could catch hold of at the top?” he asked. “If so, you’d better lower yourself until I can reach you.”
Anxious as she was to get down, Millicent hesitated; if she did as he suggested she would descend into his arms. She was not unduly prudish, and indeed, after being left alone in the impressive solitude of the wilds, she would have been glad of the reassuring grasp of a human being. But an obscure feeling, springing, perhaps, from primitive instincts, made her shrink from close contact with this particular man.
“No,” she answered coldly; “the rock is loose. Besides, the ledge is narrow, and if I came down heavily, we might both fall over.”
He again examined the slab, and then stood still, considering.