Dropping on his knees, he crept closer and closer to the escarped edge—out to its very brink. Still nothing to be seen below! Neither woman nor human being. Not a spot on which one might find footing. No beach above water—no shoal, rock, or ledge, projecting from the precipice—no standing-place of any kind. Only the dark angry waves, roaring like enraged lions, and embracing the abutment as though they would drag it back with them into the abysm of the ocean!
Amidst the crashing and seething, once more ascended the cry! Again, and again, till it became a continuous chant!
He could not mistake its meaning. The bathers were still below. Beyond doubt they were in danger.
How could he assist them?
He started to his feet. He looked all round—along the cliff-path, and across the fields stretching back from the shore.
No house was near—no chance of obtaining a rope.
He turned toward Easton’s Beach. There might be a boat there. But could it be brought in time?
It was doubtful. The cries continuing told him that the peril was imminent. Those imperilled might be already struggling with the tide!
At this moment he remembered a sloping gorge. It could not be far off. It was the same by which the young ladies had gone down. He was a strong swimmer, and knew it. By swimming round into the cove, he might be able to effect their rescue.
Giving a shout, to assure them that their situation was known, he started at full speed along the crest of the cliff.