He shrugged his shoulders, and turning more directly away from Mary, now spoke to Dorothy.
"I was only wandering about the shore," he declared, looking at her as though pleading for her good-will, "and hearing voices as I stood on the rocks above, I made bold to find out from whence they came."
Mary had not taken her eyes from his face, and now she was quick to answer him.
"Well," she said, before Dorothy could speak, "having found where the voices came from, you'd best go on about your own affairs and leave us to ours."
"And what if I refuse?" he asked quickly, a flash coming from his eyes as though she had at length nettled him.
"I should try to tumble you over the rocks at your back," she answered with sudden anger; and she stepped toward him as if to carry out her threat.
He moved back hastily, and then, missing his footing on the slippery granite, fell over backwards down the rocks.
Dorothy's shriek was echoed shrilly by little 'Bitha, while Mary stood as though transfixed, looking at the opening through which the young man had disappeared.
Dorothy was the first to find her voice. "Mary," she cried in terrified reproach, "you have made him fall into the water, and perhaps he will drown. Whatever shall we do?"
Mary did not reply, but speeding to the entrance of the cave, looked out over the uneven ledges.