"I shall lose my nerve," he thought, "if I stop here;" and rousing himself into action, he began to climb back, and was making his way up the steep slope without much difficulty, when he saw his friend's ghastly face for a moment, peering over the edge, and then it disappeared.

"Poor old fellow, it has made him giddy," muttered Artingale, as he drew himself up higher and higher, clinging close to the face of the slope and placing his feet cautiously till he found himself with his hands resting upon a ledge only a few feet below the top of the cliff.

If he could only get upon this ledge the rest would be easy, but unless he could draw himself up by the strength of his muscles, he felt that he must wait for help, and the task was one of no little difficulty, for there was no firm hold for his hands.

He knew that if he waited for help he must lose his nerve by thinking of his perilous position, while if he tried to draw himself up and did not succeed in reaching the ledge he felt that he must fall.

He dared not pause to think of the consequences of that fall, for though he had escaped so far, it was not likely that he would be so fortunate again.

He was standing now with his feet on a piece of crumbling sandstone, which was likely enough to give way if he tried to make a spring upwards.

Still, there was nothing else to be done, and drawing in a deep breath, he remained perfectly motionless before making the supreme effort.

His hands were only a few inches above his head, and he began searching about with them now for a crevice into which he could thrust his fingers, but the blind search was vain, and feeling that this was hopeless, he let his eyes fall to scan the surface of the rock below his chest for some fresh foothold; but there was none, unless he cut a niche in the soft sandstone, and he had no knife. If he climbed to the right he would be in no better position; if to the left, he would be in a worse; so once more drawing a long breath, he began cautiously to draw himself up higher and higher by sheer force of muscle, till his eyes were level with the edge of the shelf; then an inch or two higher, and then he felt that his hands were giving way--that he was falling--that all was over, and that he must dashed to pieces, when, in his agony, he saw an opening, a mere crack, across the shelf, but it was sufficient for him to force in the fingers of one hand with a desperate effort, and then, how he knew not, he placed the other beside it.

He could cling here and force feet and knees against the face of the rock, and in the struggle of the next few moments he raised himself higher, scrambled on to the ledge, rose panting and with every nerve in his body quivering, seized hold of a stone above him, thrust his feet into a niche or two, gained the top of the cliff, and, unable to keep up the tension longer, he loosed the strain upon his nerves and sank down beside his friend, trembling in every limb.

This, however, did not last many moments, for, shaking off the feeling of his own horror, Artingale rose, drew down and b.u.t.toned his wristbands, looking pityingly the while at his friend, and then caught up his coat and threw it on.

The next moment he was kneeling beside Magnus, who soon after opened his eyes.

"Ah, Harry," he said, feebly, "you didn't know what a miserable reed you had for a friend."

"Nonsense, man! How are you? Did the blackguard hurt you?"

"No, scarcely at all. I'm weak as a rat. But you!"

"Oh, I'm all right. Only a little skin off my elbows and varnish off my toes. Which way did the brute go?"

"Over the hill yonder," said Magnus. "Where he may go," said Artingale, "for hang me if I go after him to-day. Why, confound him, he's as strong as a bull. I couldn't have thought a man could be so powerful.

But let's get back, old fellow. Can you walk?"

"Oh yes, I'm better now," said Magnus feebly; "but I shall never forgive myself for failing you at such a pinch."

"Never mind the failing, Jemmy: but pinch it was; the blackguard nearly broke my ribs. One moment: let me look down."

He walked to the edge and looked over the cliff, realising more plainly now the terrible risk he had run, for his escape had been narrow indeed, and in spite of his attempt to preserve his composure, he could not help feeling a peculiar moisture gathering in the palms of his hands. But he laughed it off as he took Magnus's arm, and drew it through his own, saying,--

"It's a great blessing, my dear boy, that I took off this coat. It would have been completely spoiled."

"You had an awfully narrow escape."

"Yes; and it is almost a pity the brute did not kill me," said Artingale, coolly.

"Harry!"

"Well, if he had, the police would have hunted the scoundrel down, then he would have been hung, and little Julie could have rested in peace."

"And Cynthia?" said Magnus, with a sad smile.

"Ah, yes! poor little darling, she would have broken her heart. But I say, old fellow, it's a pity the scoundrel got away. What are we to do?"

"He must be taken," exclaimed Magnus, "at any cost. It was a murderous attempt on your life."

"Humph! yes, but he might swear that I tried to throw him over first.

It was a fight, old fellow, and I got the worst of it."

"But he must be taken."

"No," said Artingale, "I think not, old fellow; his is a peculiar case, and we can't be going into witness-boxes and answering all sorts of questions. After to-day's adventure down below on the beach, I don't see that we can move. No, Magnus, there are things that must be hushed up, and this is one of them. But we must do something. I declare I'll mount a revolver, and have a shot at the brute if he annoys them again, legal or illegal."

"Impossible," said Magnus, bitterly.

"By Jove; if he'd only go down home again and get up to some of his poaching tricks. I tell you what, Magnus, old man," he said, setting his teeth, "I hope fate will never place me with my men down at Gatley, going to meet a poaching party led by Jock Morrison. If she does-- well--"

"Well what?"

"I hope I sha'n't have a gun in my hand."

"You must persuade Mr Mallow to leave here."

"What I just as he has come down for Julia's health. No, my dear fellow, you might just as well try to move a rock. But I say, our first attempt at playing detectives don't seem to have been much of a success."

"No," said Magnus, dreamily. "Let's get back."

"What are you thinking about, old man," said Artingale, after a pause.

"I was thinking whether the fellow could be bribed to go away."

"Oh, yes, easily," said Artingale, "and he'd go and come back next week, and levy blackmail wherever the family went, while the very fact of his having been paid off would give the affair an ugly look if ever we had occasion to drag the scoundrel before the judge."

"Then what is to be done?" said Magnus, angrily, "the police must be consulted."

"No: won't do," said Artingale, decisively. "Wait a bit, Jemmy, and I'll hit upon some plan. Unfortunately, we live in these degraded times when that fine old inst.i.tution the press-gang is no more."

"This is no time for levity, Harry," said Magnus, bitterly.

"Levity! My dear boy, my feelings towards that fellow are full of anything but levity. He nearly killed me, and that is no joke; and--oh!

horror of horror! I did not expect this--here's Perry-Morton."

He was quite right, for the idol of the early masters' clique was advancing to meet them after failing to see poor Julia, who with throbbing pulses and cheeks now pale, now burning with fever, was sobbing in her sister's arms.

PART TWO, CHAPTER SIX.

UNSELFISH PROCEEDINGS.