"They are funny conservative people these Cornishmen. Whatever they may pretend, they've no use for foreigners and especially foreigners like Crispin."
They stood a moment listening to the sea.
"The tide's going out," said Dunbar. "I was a little anxious lest I'd pulled the boat up high enough this afternoon, and then, of course, some one might have come along and taken a fancy to it. However, I was pretty safe. No one ever comes down into this cove. But we've taken a lot of chances to-night and everything's come off. The Lord's on our side—as He well may be considering the kind of characters the Crispins have."
He looked at Harkness. "Hullo, you're shivering. Are you cold?"
"No," said Harkness, "I suddenly got the creeps. Some one walking over my grave, I suppose. I feel as though Crispin had followed us and was listening to every word we were saying. I could swear I could see his horrid red head poking over that rock now. However, to tell you the exact truth, Dunbar, I didn't care overmuch for coming down that bit of rock just now. I'm not much at heights."
"What! that path!" cried Dunbar. "That's nothing. However, there's no need for both of us to go back. You can stay by the boat."
But a sudden determination flamed up in Harkness that it should be he, and none other, that should fetch Hesther Crispin.
"No, I'll go. There's no need for you to come though. We'll be back here in ten minutes. I'll see that she gets down all right."
"Very well," said Dunbar. "But look after her. She's not so good a climber as she thinks she is."
So Harkness started off. He waved his hand to Dunbar who was now busied with the boat, and began his climb. He stumbled over the wet rocks, nearly fell once or twice, and then came to the little path. His thought now was all of Hesther. He played with his imagination, picturing to himself that he was going right out of the world to some unknown heights where she awaited him, having chosen him out of all the world, and there they would live together, alone, happy always in one another's company. . . .