A hummocky up-and-down line of cliffs, all projections,
dents, bays, and hollows, trended southward till it ended in the great
bluff of St. Alban's Head, ten miles away. The cliff-face was gleaming
white, the sea tawny inshore, but purest blue outside, with the straight
sunpath across it, spangled and gleaming like a mackerel's back.
The relief of being once more on firm ground, and the exultation of an
escape from immediate danger, removed my pain and made me forget that my
leg was broken. So I lay for a moment basking in the sun; and the wind,
which a few minutes before threatened to blow me from that narrow ledge,
seemed now but the gentlest of breezes, fresh with the breath of the
kindly sea. But this was only for a moment, for the anguish came back
and grew apace, and I fell to thinking dismally of the plight we were in.
How things had been against us in these last days! First there was losing
the Why Not? and that was bad enough; second, there was the being known
by the Excise for smugglers, and perhaps for murderers; third and last,
there was the breaking of my leg, which made escape so difficult. But,
most of all, there came before my eyes that grey face turned up against
the morning sun, and I thought of all it meant for Grace, and would have
given my own life to call back that of our worst enemy.
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