That terrible tide!
Were it not for the rush of waters swirling forward he might have thought that some good fairy was favouring his heart's dearest wish. The loveliest maiden whom he had ever seen was resting within his arms, dependent upon him for safety. But what safety could he give? Their position seemed hopeless. The last rung of the middle ladder hung forty feet or more above his head. The lowest ladder lay on the sands in three portions, and he realized at a glance the impossibility of refixing them in their original position.
"No boat in sight! Impossible to scale the cliffs! Too far to swim with her to Ormsby! What is to be our fate?" he muttered.
Idris had often looked death in the face, but never in circumstances so hard as these. Was he to die holding this fair maiden in his arms, helplessly witnessing her death-gasps? And the voice of the sea, swelling ever higher and higher, seemed to give an answering cry of "Yes, yes!"
The breeze blowing full upon her face had a reviving effect upon her. Slowly she opened her eyes, and a look of innocent wonder came over her face when she met Idris' earnest gaze bent upon her.
"You fell from the ladder, you remember," he said, answering the question in her eyes. "Are you hurt? Have you broken any bones?"
"I—I think not," was the reply.
"Shall I help you to stand?"
She assented. But no sooner was she raised to her feet than throbs of pain began to shoot through her left ankle, and she leaned for support against the cliff, resting her right foot only upon the sand.