The Eagle Cliff

by R. M. Ballantyne

Barret protested earnestly that he had nothing—could have nothing—better to do, and that even if he had he wouldn’t do it. As for being bored, the idea of such a state of mind being possible in the circumstances was ridiculous.

Milly was rejoiced. Here she had unexpectedly found a friend to sympathise with her intelligently. Her uncle, she was well aware, sympathised with her heartily, but not intelligently; for his knowledge of botany, he told her frankly, was inferior to that of a tom-cat, and he was capable of little more in that line than to distinguish the difference between a cabbage and a potato.

At it, therefore, the two young people went with real enthusiasm—we might almost say with red-hot enthusiasm—for botany was only a superstructure, so to speak, love being the foundation of the whole affair.

But let not the reader jump to hasty conclusions. Barret and Milly, being young and inexperienced, were absolutely ignorant at that time of the true state of matters. Both were earnest and straightforward—both were ardently fond of botany, and neither, up to that period, had known what it was to fall in love. What more natural, then, than that they should attribute their condition to botany? There is, indeed, a sense in which their idea was correct, for sympathy is one of the most precious seeds with which poor humanity is entrusted, and did not botany enable these two to unite in planting that seed, and is not sympathy the germ of full-blown love? If so, may they not be said to have fallen in love botanically? We make no assertion in regard to this. We merely, and modestly, put the question, leaving it to the intelligent reader to supply the answer—an exceedingly convenient mode of procedure when one is not quite sure of the answer one’s self.

To return. Having got “at it,” Barret and Milly continued at it for several hours, during which period they either forgot, or did not care to remember, the flight of time. They also contrived, during that time, to examine, discuss, and comment upon, a prodigious number of plants, all of which, being in pots or boxes, were conveyed by the youth to the empty stand at the side of the fair invalid. The minute examination with a magnifying glass of corolla, and stamen, and calyx, etcetera, rendered it necessary, of course, that these inquiries into the mysteries of Nature should bring the two heads pretty close together; one consequence being that the seed-plant of sympathy was “forced” a good deal, and developed somewhat after the fashion of those plants which Hindoo jugglers cause magically to sprout, blossom, and bloom before the very eyes of astonished beholders—with this difference, however, that whereas the development of the jugglers is deceptive as well as quick, that of our botanists was genuine and natural, though rapid.

The clang of the luncheon gong was the first thing that brought them to their senses.

“Surely there must be some mistake! Junkie must be playing with—no, it is indeed one o’clock,” exclaimed Milly, consulting in unbelief a watch so small that it seemed like cruelty to expect it to go at all, much less to go correctly.

As she spoke, the door of the conservatory opened, and Mrs Gordon appeared with affected indignation on her usually mild countenance.

“You naughty child!” she exclaimed, hurrying forward. “Did I not warn you to stay no longer than an hour? and here you are, flushed, and no doubt feverish, in consequence of staying the whole forenoon. Take my arm, and come away directly.”

“I pray you, Mrs Gordon, to lay the blame on my shoulders,” said Barret. “I fear it was my encouraging Miss Moss to talk of her favourite study that induced her to remain.”