Ravenshoe. By Henry Kingsley.

106 RAVENSHOE.
aching, if aught happened to him. You stick close to these young
men. They'11 see after you, sir."
"You keep close alongside of we, sir. You hold on of we, sir.
We'11 see you all right, sir," said the two young men.
"But, my dear good souls, I am as good a swimmer as any in
England, and as active as a cat. Pray, don't mind me."
"You keep hold of we and run, sir," said one of the young
men, " that's all you're a' got to do, sir."
"I shall most certainly run," said Marston, laughing, "but I
decline drowning any one but myself-"
Charles said at this moment, " Do come here, and look at
this."
It was worth looking at, indeed. They were about a mile
from shore, floating about anyhow on an oily smooth sea; for the
tide had changed, and they were making no headway. Before
them one of the noblest headlands on the coast, an abrupt cone
of slate, nigh a thousand feet high, covered almost entirely with
grass, sloped suddenly into the water; and in advance of it, but
slightly on one side, a rugged mound of black rock, nearly six
hundred feet, stood out into the sea, and contrasted its horrid
jagged lines with the smooth green of the peak behind. Round
its base, dividing it from the glossy sea, ran a delicate line of
silver, - the surf caused by the ground swell; and in front the
whole promontory was dimly mirrored in the quietly heaving
ocean.
"What a noble headland," said MIarston; "is that grass on the
further peak too steep to walk upon?"
"There's some one a'walking on it now," said old Evans.
"There's a woman a'walking on it."
None could see it but he, except Matthews, who said he
could n't tell if it was a sheep or no.
Charles got out his glass, and the old man was right. A
woman was walking rapidly along the peak, about the third of
the way down.
"What a curious place for a woman to be in!" he remarked.
"It is almost terrible to look at."
" I never saw any one there before, save the shepherd," said
the old man.
"It's a sheep-path," said one of the young ones. "I have
been along there myself. It is the short way round to Coombe."
Charles would have thought more of the solitary female figure
on that awful precipice, but that their attention was diverted by
something else. From the southwestward black flaws of wind
began to creep towards them, alternated with long, irregular
bands of oily calm. Soon the calm bands disappeared, and the
wind reached them. Then they had steerage, and in a very