Chapter 7

PERIL BY LAND.

The Trevennacks dined in their lodgings at Gunwalloe at half-past
seven. But in the rough open-air life of summer visitors on the
Cornish coast, meals as a rule are very movable feasts; and Michael
Trevennack wasn't particularly alarmed when he reached home that
evening to find Cleer hadn't returned before him. They had missed one
another, somehow, among the tangled paths that led down the gully; an
easy enough thing to do between those big boulders and bramble-bushes;
and it was a quarter to eight before Trevennack began to feel alarmed
at Cleer's prolonged absence. By that time, however, he grew
thoroughly frightened; and, reproaching himself bitterly for having
let his daughter stray out of his sight in the first place, he hurried
back, with his wife, at the top of his speed along the cliff path to
the Penmorgan headland.

It's half an hour's walk from Gunwalloe to Michael's Crag; and by the
time Trevennack reached the mouth of the gully the sands were almost
covered; so for the first time in fifteen years he was forced to take
the path right under the cliff to the now comparatively distant
island, round whose base a whole waste of angry sea surged sullenly.
On the way they met a few workmen who, in answer to their inquiries,
could give them no news, but who turned back to aid in the search for
the missing young lady. When they got opposite Michael's Crag, a wide
belt of black water, all encumbered with broken masses of sharp rock,
some above and some below the surface, now separated them by fifty
yards or more from the island. It was growing dark fast, for these
were the closing days of August twilight; and dense fog had drifted
in, half obliterating everything. They could barely descry the dim
outline of the pyramidal rock in its lower half; its upper part was
wholly shrouded in thick mist and drizzle.

With a wild cry of despair, Trevennack raised his voice, and shouted
aloud, "Cleer, Cleer! where are you?"

That clarion voice, as of his namesake angel, though raised against
the wind, could be heard above even the thud of the fierce breakers
that pounded the sand. On the highest peak above, where she sat, cold
and shivering, Cleer heard it, and jumped up. "Here! here! father!"
she cried out, with a terrible effort, descending at the same time
down the sheer face of the cliff as far as the dashing spray and
fierce wild waves would allow her.

No other ear caught the sound of that answering cry; but Trevennack's
keen senses, preternaturally awakened by the gravity of the crisis,
detected the faint ring of her girlish voice through the thunder of
the surf. "She's there!" he cried, frantically, waving his hands above
his head.