"If," she demanded, "'t is wicked to say that G.o.d has bottles, what does the Church Book say so for?" And she pointed to the open page.

"Whatever does the child mean?" asked Dorothy of Mary, as she took the book into her own hands.

"There,--right there!" was 'Bitha's triumphant retort. "Read for yourself!" And she trailed a small finger along the lines,--

"Thou hast a book for my complaints, A bottle for my Tears."

"There!" the child repeated. "You see 't is so. Why should G.o.d keep bottles in Heaven,--and what sort would He keep?"

"I think you will know more about such things when you grow older," was Dorothy's irresponsive answer; and she handed the book to Mary, while her dancing eyes glinted with topaz hues caught from the sunshine without.

"You are an odd child, 'Bitha," Mary said, smiling in spite of herself as she read the lines.

"That is what I am always told when I ask about anything," the little girl pouted.

Before any reply could be made to this general accusation a shadow darkened the opening of the cave, and looking up, all three sprang to their feet with exclamations of dismay.

A vivid gleam of scarlet shut away the daylight, and a pair of sea-blue eyes, set in an olive-hued face, were looking at them with much curiosity.

The two older girls stood speechless, facing the intruder, whose gaze wandered with respectful curiosity over the regal form and gold-brown hair of the one, whose mouth was decidedly scornful, as were also her steady blue eyes, which regarded him fearlessly, despite her quaking heart.

Then the new-comer's eyes turned to the smaller figure; and a flash of admiration came into them as his hand stole to his head and removed its covering, while he said with unmistakable courtesy, "Do not be alarmed, I beg of you,--I mean no harm."

"What do you want?" Mary Broughton demanded, seeming in no wise softened by his gentle bearing.

"Only your good-will," he replied, with a smile that showed beautiful teeth.

She flashed a scornful glance in return.

"Good will!" she repeated. "That is something we have not in our power to give one who wears a coat the color of yours." She spoke defiantly, looking the young man squarely in the face.

"Such words, uttered by such lips, almost make me coward enough to regret the color," he said good-naturedly, and as though determined not to take offence.

With this he took a step or two inside the cave; and small 'Bitha, dismayed at the near approach of the scarlet-clad form, clung tightly to Dorothy's gown, pressing her face into its folds.

"Speak him fair, Mary," Dorothy whispered, apprehending possible danger from her friend's want of discretion.

But Mary did not hear, or else she did not care to heed, for she said: "Neither your raiment, nor aught that concerns you, can matter to us.

This is our property you are trespa.s.sing upon; and I bid you begone, this moment."

"You are surely lacking in courtesy, mistress," he replied, still smilingly.

The words were addressed to Mary, but his glowing eyes were fixed upon Dorothy, who was still standing with her arms about 'Bitha. The color was coming and going in her cheeks, and something in the big eyes told him that a smile was not far away.

"We have no courtesy for British soldiers," was Mary's haughty answer to his imputation; and there was an angry tapping of her foot upon the sh.e.l.l floor.

He shrugged his shoulders, and turning more directly away from Mary, now spoke to Dorothy.

"I was only wandering about the sh.o.r.e," he declared, looking at her as though pleading for her good-will, "and hearing voices as I stood on the rocks above, I made bold to find out from whence they came."

Mary had not taken her eyes from his face, and now she was quick to answer him.

"Well," she said, before Dorothy could speak, "having found where the voices came from, you'd best go on about your own affairs and leave us to ours."

"And what if I refuse?" he asked quickly, a flash coming from his eyes as though she had at length nettled him.

"I should try to tumble you over the rocks at your back," she answered with sudden anger; and she stepped toward him as if to carry out her threat.

He moved back hastily, and then, missing his footing on the slippery granite, fell over backwards down the rocks.

Dorothy's shriek was echoed shrilly by little 'Bitha, while Mary stood as though transfixed, looking at the opening through which the young man had disappeared.

Dorothy was the first to find her voice. "Mary," she cried in terrified reproach, "you have made him fall into the water, and perhaps he will drown. Whatever shall we do?"

Mary did not reply, but speeding to the entrance of the cave, looked out over the uneven ledges.

The Britisher was lying, apparently unconscious, only a short distance below her, his shoulders caught in a deep seam of the rocks, while the rest of his body lay along a narrow ledge a few feet lower.

"There he is," she said, turning a white face to Dorothy,--"lying there in the rocks."

Putting 'Bitha aside, Dorothy came and looked down.

"See the blood on his face!" she exclaimed wildly. "'T is coming from a cut on the side of his head. Oh, Mary, I'm afraid you have killed him!"

Mary started to reply; but Dorothy had already sprung past her through the mouth of the cave, and was flying down the rocks to where the wounded man lay.

Tearing the silken kerchief from about her neck, she knelt beside him and endeavored to wipe the blood from his face, while Mary watched her in silence from above, with 'Bitha clinging to her, and crying softly.

"I must have some water, Mary," said Dorothy, who saw that the blood came from a cut in the side of the young man's head, "and I want another kerchief. Throw down yours."

Mary, without replying, tossed down her own kerchief, but without removing her eyes from the white face beneath her.

Dorothy ran to the sand-beach near by, and, having dabbled her b.l.o.o.d.y kerchief in the water, hurried back; then laying it folded upon the wound, she bound it fast with the one Mary had thrown her, lifting the sufferer's head as she did this, and holding one of his broad shoulders against her knee, while her nimble fingers deftly tied the knots.

Scarcely had she finished when she was startled, but no less relieved, to hear a long, quivering sigh come from his lips; and her color deepened as she looked into his face and met his opening eyes gazing wonderingly into her own. Then they wandered over her bared neck and throat, only to return to her eyes, dwelling there with a look that made her voice tremble as she said, "We are sorry you are hurt, sir; I hope it is nothing serious."

He made no reply, and, after a moment's pause, she asked, "Do you feel able to stand on your feet?"

Still he did not answer, but gave her that same intent, questioning look, as if gazing through and beyond the depths of the eyes above him.

As she stammeringly repeated her inquiry, he sighed heavily, and seemed to shake his dreaming senses awake, for, raising himself a little, he pa.s.sed his shapely brown hand over his bandaged head, and laughed, albeit not very mirthfully.

"The other fair young dame must be rejoiced at my mishap," he said, "but--I thank you for your care. I seem to have done something to my head, for it feels like a burning coal." And he touched the bandage over the wound.

"It is the salt water, getting into the cut," Dorothy explained, as he rose slowly and stood before her. "I am very sorry it is so painful; but it will stop the bleeding."

"As it was you who placed it there, I like it to burn," he said in a tone to reach her ears alone. "But I'll not forget, even when the pain ceases." And he looked down into her face in a way that made her eyes droop.