The Charleston daily news. [volume] (Charleston, S.C.) 1865-1873, 1870-05-18

had joked, and laughed, and tried to bear her
self bravely; but the pentup sorrow grew IN
its struggle to find vent-in the deep lone still
ness it made her heart heavy as lead.
head out Of the lattice as she heard iar-oh
sound, and the wind swirling round the mouse
in wild gust blew her hair into her eyes, Tne
soo;iiIa came nearer, heavy and numbering, not
like mere footstep.
"Who's there ~ she calls, as it comes nearer;
there is strong sudden horror in her, though
she could not have found name for 1t:
sits me-Dayie. be IN oarlo" from Ine
rocks down yonder."
"He's fallen and smashed his ankle" says
deep voice which Fanny recognizes as that OF
the second in command Of the coastguard sta-
tion; 81 had to come back, so I've broughthlm
along"
"Weli, yes" (the man speaks Sulkliy1 "s'is
cried out before she was hurt. There's one OF
the boats stove in that came out after the lie
boat"
Fannys heart gave sudden bound lis any
one hurt besides DaVie?' she says. IN falnt,
scared voice
"Well, yes; and must go on. Miss. now.
I'm come in to fetch the doctor out to Joe pof-
ter and mother, and another poor fellow"
SIS John Fry down helping with you p she
says.
words had reused him.
nTm not easy in my mind" ne says. "Jonn
Fry left me all in a hurry to go OF to the rocks,
and there's no one seen or heard on him since.
Johns not the lad to stan by WI MS hands IN
pockets while folks is wanting help"
Before his words are spoken Fanny Is out OF
the cottage door. She can see the two figures
In the vague indstinct light-a light that seems
fraught in itself with doubt and tear. WITH all
her haste, that strange mechanical quallty we
call "habit" makes Fanny take down sna"i,
which hangs in the passage, ana wrap IL
around her head and shoulders as she runs
into the road. She puts out her hand I'LL IL
touches the coastguard's arm.
.tMr Evans, tell any one you see 10 senu
help to the foot OF the cliffs; and tell Lieuten-
ant Roberts Pm gone there to look Tor Jonn
Fry" 80 .w d.. .. ,o
speaks there is nothing but the vague lndls-
tinct glimmer round Evans and his charge.
Fanny has sped on far out Of sight, down the
steep fern-banke ed lane, lighter than It had been
in The upper village; for the sea Is before
her. :;
She cuesses that the fishermen are not gone
to bed, and she knocks loudly at the first door
she comes TO.
An old man opens it, very old and feeble,
with a face honeycombed with wrinkles. He
has lantern in his hand, and holds Il up 10
examine his visitor.
"Iet me have it, Father Pugsley," says the
girl, taking the lantern with grasp he IS pow
erless to resist. ''If there's man or boy IN
the house with you, send them after me 10 tne
foot OF Ragged jack"
The wonderful power of instinct has told her
that if any harm has come to John her con-
duct has caused it. She sees him hurrylng
along the cff-path when she left him WIN
those tauntlng words on her lips. She knows
every inch of the path, and Johns loving, pro-
tecting care has taught her too well It's dan
gers. Atthe foot Of this massive pile of gray
rocks, which the villagers call Ragged Jack"
the path seems 10 end suddenly-sO abrupt u
the angle 1t makes round the Jagged mass.
Fanny shudders when she thinks OF the juttinS-
ont crags below, and how much care and eau
ton it would REQUIRE in The darkness to follow
the abrupt turns Of the slippery, uneven path.
This Is scarcely thought. She hurrics on so
fast that visions of what may have Geiaiien
her lover, seems to lure her on to reach them
as they move on in bodily shape before her.
AT another time Fanny would have been
frightened at the lonely darkness; now she
heeds nothing but the longing to lind her
lover before any one else can reach him.
She was neaT the point, when sudden gust
of wind blows ont her light-not for long. She
has seen, as she carried 1t, that old Pugsley
had left matches inside the lantern. But tIat
moment of utter durkness, all alone on that
gIddy height, with the moaning, gulPing sound
OF the hishing waves below, shakes Fanny
from head to foot.
Wbat II 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 unncryed and trembling
she cannot relight the lantern. Even if she
finds him he will not be alive. He may be an
undlstingushable mass OF broken bones and
wounds too dreadful to think Of.
IN, 1oc ri xIith
rekindles. She trembles still. but she draws
her shawl more closely around 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 speaking to her more OF another
than for herselt-and the longing to help and
comfort John for bis own sake is oVermaster-
ing 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 instinct. She looks,
and then she shrinks back, sick and white,
against the rocls-wall beside her. If John yet
lives, he is lying 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 upon Fanny.
that she must descend that fearful preciplce
alone in the darkness, face to iace with the
moaning, Wailing sea-a moaning and waiiing
which echoes, heavily and nopelessly, every
thought of terrOr-Fannys courage flies IN one
long shuddering sigh, and she sinks on her
knees sobbing.
The attitude, or power beyond her. brings
prayer to her lips: "Oh, my Father save him
help mep The words seem to nerve her,
perhaps they remind her she Is not so helpless:
She lies down oa her face, and drags herself
to the edge. John John Fry John, darl-
ing do you hear me-"
The wind islulling fast, and her voice SOUNDS
clear through the night air.
No answer comes; the silence seems more
awful. and the moan fthe waves more awfully
true in their foreboding.
Desperately, she raises herself and senCs her
voice out in one loud piercing cry.
Then she strains her ear to listen.
Far off-seemingly as far as the bay on
the other side of Ragged Jack-an answer
comes, but in sound Of many voices; and
then nearer, almost close, so it seems by con-
trast, 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 standing
place. She knows where she is now: the crag
iuts out here into huge jagged rock, with
bush or two on it, and then goes sheer down 10
the sea.
Again, close beside her, the whistle sonnGs.
louder than before.
She calls, but no answer comes; and then
she holds the lantern So that it's light falls
below her.