The Evansville journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ind.) 1866-1870, 1870-05-23

with you, send him after me TO the
foot of Ragged Jack"
The wonderful power of instinct has
told her that if any harm has come
to John her conduct has caused 1t:
She sees him hurrying along the cliff
path when she left him with those
haunting words on her lips. She
knows every inch of the path, and
Johns loving protecting care has
taught her too we'll its dangers. At
the foot of this massive pile of gray
rocks, which the villagers call Rag.
ged Jack" the path seems to end sud
denly-so abrupt is the angle it makes
round the jagged mass. Fanny shud-
ders when she thinks Of the jutting-
out crags below. and how much care
and caution it will require in the dark
ness to follow the abrupt turns OF the
uneven path. This is scarcely q
thought. She hurries on so fast that
visions of what may have befallen her
lover seem to lure her on to reach
them as they move in bodily shape be-
fore her. At another time Fanny
would have been frightened at the
lonely darkness; now she heeds mo-
thing but the longing to ind her low
er before any one else can reach MIN.
She is near the point, when sud
den gust of wind blows out her light
not for long. She has seen, as she
carried it, that old Pugsley had left
matches inside the lantern, But that
moment of utter darkness, all alone
on that giddy hight, with the moaning,
gulping sound of the hushing waves
below, shakes Fanny from head to
foot.
What if she cannot find him? What
if he has fallen to the bottom of the
cliff, and the hungry waves ebbing
back, have carried him along with
them forever?
Her fingers grow unnerved and
trembling-she cannot relight the Ian
tern. Even if she finds him he will
not be alive. He may be an undistin-
guishable mass Of broken bones and
Wounds-too dreadful to think.
Flame at last, and with it the girls
courage rekindles. She trembles still,
but she draws her shawl more closely
round her and goes forward, not so
fast but more steadily.
There is heart, after all, in her
vain little body-a heart that. almost
for the first time In her life. is speak
ing to her more of another than of
herself-and the longing to help and
comfort John for his own sake is over
mastering any selfish dread.
She stops and holds the lantern
high above her head. just before
her, black in the vague light. Ragged
Jack stands out as if to stop her way.
A sudden chill at her heart. and she
lowers her lantern to the paths edge.
Fanny could never remember why she
did this-it was strong impelling in
stinet. She looks, and then she
shrinks back, sick and white. against
the rock-wall beside her. IF John yet
lives he is living below where she
stands. The path is broken away, and
there are signs that large bits of rock
have been freshly loosened from its
edge and hurled down to the sea.
And as the reality forces itself up
on Fanny, that she must descend that
fearful precipice alone in the dark
ness, face to face with the moaning,
wailing sea-a moaning and wailing
which echoes, heavily and horelessly,
every thought of terror--Fanny's cour-
age flies in one long shuddering sigh,
and she sinks on her knees sobbing.
The attitude, or a power beyond
her, brings prayer to her lips: "Oh.
my Father save him-help mel"
The words seem to nerve her-per-
haps they remind her she is not so
helpless. She lies down on her face,
and drags herself to the edge. y ohm
John Fryl-John, darling do you
hear me2"
The wind is lulling fast, and her
voice sounds clear through the night
air.
No answer comes; the silence seems
more awful, and the moan of the
waves more awfully true in forebod-
ing,
Desperately, she raises herself and
sends her voice out in one loud pierre
ing cry.
Then she strains her ear to listen.
Far off-seemingly as far as the bay
on the other side of Ragged Jaek-an
answer comes. but in a sound of many
voices; aud then nearer, almost close,
so it seems by contrast, feeble
whistle.
All her fears are gone; she only
chides at her own delay, Still holding
the lantern in one hand, she feels her
way cautiously, foot by foot. down the
cliff, till she finds at last a standing
place. She knows where she is now /;
the crag juts out here into huge jag.
ged rock, with bush or two on it, and
then goes sheer down to the sea,
Again, close beside her. the whistle
sounds louder than before.
She calls, but no answer comes; and
then she holds the lantern so that its
light falls below her.
Close to her-so close that her
next downward footstep would have
been set on his face-John Fry is ~
ing with shut eyes. He has beer
caught, seemingly, between the bush
es growing on the edge, for only his
head and chest are visible.
Fanny kneels down, she touches
his face timidly with her hand, anC
then draws it back, shudderiDg.
) "Johnl John, darlingl OpeI
, your eyesl Speak to mel'
He lies there as still as the gra!
. rock, almost as cold. She forgets tn
; danger of falling; she twines hel
arms round him; she murmurs t,
F., him and presses warm kiss on hi
r "Oh, John, nay darlingl-my dar
lipgl Look at me just once; let m
hear you say once you forgive N
wickednessl !"
e She might as we'll cry to the roc
itself; and yet. as she presses her LIP
J. on his, 1T seems as if some warmth ling
o cred in them.
e Suddenly she raises her head, an
8 cries out loud for help. A strang
IS sound reached her. She listen
g breathlessly. Yes, they are coming
Overhead, she hears voices, and, frol
y the sea, the strong, regular pull {
n oars.