‘Eve; what other?’
Jasper did not understand, and supposed he was wandering.
‘He—your brother—leaped off the precipice with her in his arms.’
‘Papa!’ cried Barbara.
‘She is dead—dashed to pieces—and he too.’
Barbara looked at Jasper, then, in terror ran to the edge. Nothing whatever could be seen. That platform of rock might be the end of the world, a cliff jutting forth into infinite space and descending into infinite abysses of blackness. She leaned over and called, but received no answer. Jasper could hardly believe in the truth of what had been said. Turning to the policeman and servants, he spoke sternly: ‘Mr. Jordan must be removed at once. Let him be lifted very carefully and carried into the house. He has lain here already unsuccoured too long.’
‘I will not be removed,’ said the old man; ‘leave me here, I shall take no further harm. Go—seek for the body of my poor Eve.’
‘John Westlake,’ called Barbara to one of the men, ‘give me the lantern at once.’ The man was carrying one. Then, distracted between fear for her sister and anxiety about her father, she ran back to Mr. Jordan to know how he was.
‘You need be in no immediate anxiety about him,’ said Jasper. ‘It is true that his wound has opened and bled, but I have tightly bandaged it again.’
Joseph, the policeman, stood by helpless, staring blankly about him and scratching his ear.