Then Barbara noticed a blanket lying in a heap on the rock—the blanket Jasper had brought to his brother, but which had been refused. She caught it up at once and tore it into shreds, knotted the ends together, took the lantern from the man Westlake, and let the light down the face of the crag. The lantern was of tin and horn, and through the sides but a dull light was thrown. She could see nothing—the lantern caught in ivy and heather bushes and turned on one side; the candle-flame scorched the horn.
‘I can see nothing,’ she said despairingly. ‘What shall I do!’
Suddenly she grasped Jasper’s hand, as he knelt by her, looking down.
‘Do you hear?’
A faint moan was audible. Was it a human voice, or was a bough swayed and groaning in the wind?
All crowded to the edge and held their breath. Mr. Jordan was disregarded in the immediate interest attaching to the fate of Eve.
No other sound was heard.
Jasper ran and gathered fir and oak branches and grass, bound them into a faggot, set it on fire, and threw it over the edge, so that it might fall wide of the Rock and illumine its face. There was a glare for a moment, but the faggot went down too swiftly to be of any avail.
Then Walter, whom none had hitherto observed, pushed through, and, without saying a word to anyone, kicked off his shoes and went over the edge.
‘Let him go,’ said Jasper as one of the men endeavoured to stay him; ‘the boy can climb like a squirrel. Let him take the lantern, Barbara, that he may see where to plant his foot and what to hold.’ Then he took the blanket rope from her hand, raised the light, and slowly lowered it again beside the descending boy.