Chapter 7 - Page 2

"She's there! She's there! We must get across and save her."

For a second Mrs. Trevennack doubted whether he was really right, or
whether this was only one of poor Michael's hallucinations. But the
next moment, with another cry, Cleer waved her handkerchief in return,
and let it fall from her hand. It came, carried on the light breeze,
and dropped in the water before their very eyes, half way across the
channel.

Frenzied at the sight, Trevennack tore off his coat, and would have
plunged into the sea, then and there, to rescue her. But the workmen
held him back. "No, no, sir; you mustn't," they said. "No harm can't
come to the young lady if she stops there. She've only got to sit on
them rocks there till morning, and the tide'll leave her high and dry
right enough, as it always do. But nobody couldn't live in such a sea
as that--not Tim o' Truro. The waves 'u'd dash him up afore he knowed
where he was, and smash him all to pieces on the side o' the island."

Trevennack tried to break from them, but the men held him hard. Their
resistance angered him. He chafed under their restraint. How dare
these rough fellows lay hands like that on the Prince of the
Archangels and a superior officer in Her Majesty's Civil Service? But
with the self-restraint that was habitual to him, he managed to
refrain, even so, from disclosing his identity. He only struggled
ineffectually, instead of blasting them with his hot breath, or
clutching his strong arms round their bare throats and choking them.
As he stood there and hesitated, half undecided how to act, of a
sudden a sharp cry arose from behind. Trevennack turned and looked.
Through the dark and the fog he could just dimly descry two men
hurrying up, with ropes and life buoys. As they neared him, he started
in unspeakable horror. For one of them, indeed, was only Eustace Le
Neve; but the other--the other was that devil Walter Tyrrel, who, he
felt sure in his own heart, had killed their dear Michael. And it was
his task in life to fight and conquer devils.

For a minute he longed to leap upon him and trample him under foot, as
long ago he had trampled his old enemy, Satan. What was the fellow
doing here now? What business had he with Cleer? Was he always to be
in at the death of a Trevennack?

But true to her trust, the silver-haired lady clutched his arm with
tender watchfulness. "For Cleer's sake, dear Michael!" she whispered
low in his ear; "for Cleer's sake--say nothing; don't speak to him,
don't notice him!"

The distracted father drew back a step, out of reach of the spray.
"But Lucy," he cried low to her, "only think! only remember! If I
cared to go on the cliff and just spread my