Before he could recover himself, Abel encumbered with the rope that
should have aided him, was plunged with a despairing cry back into the
darkness of the devouring sea. Then, feeling all the madness and the doom of Cain upon him, Eric
rushed back over the rocks, heedless of the danger and eager only for
one thing—to be amongst other people whose living noises would shut out
that last cry which seemed to ring still in his ears. When he regained
the Flagstaff Rock the men surrounded him, and through the fury of the
storm he heard the harbour-master say:—

“We feared you were lost when we heard a cry! How white you are! Where
is your rope? Was there anyone drifted in?”

“No one,” he shouted in answer, for he felt that he could never explain
that he had let his old comrade slip back into the sea, and at the very
place and under the very circumstances in which that comrade had saved
his own life. He hoped by one bold lie to set the matter at rest for
ever. There was no one to bear witness—and if he should have to carry
that still white face in his eyes and that despairing cry in his ears
for evermore—at least none should know of it. “No one,” he cried, more
loudly still. “I slipped on the rock, and the rope fell into the sea!”
So saying he left them, and, rushing down the steep path, gained his
own cottage and locked himself within. The remainder of that night he passed lying on his bed—dressed and
motionless—staring upwards, and seeming to see through the darkness a
pale face gleaming wet in the lightning, with its glad recognition
turning to ghastly despair, and to hear a cry which never ceased to
echo in his soul. In the morning the storm was over and all was smiling again, except
that the sea was still boisterous with its unspent fury. Great pieces
of wreck drifted into the port, and the sea around the island rock was
strewn with others. Two bodies also drifted into the harbour—one the
master of the wrecked ketch, the other a strange seaman whom no one
knew. Sarah saw nothing of Eric till the evening, and then he only looked in
for a minute. He did not come into the house, but simply put his head
in through the open window. “Well, Sarah,” he called out in a loud voice, though to her it did not
ring truly, “is the wedding dress done? Sunday week, mind! Sunday
week!”

Sarah was glad to have the reconciliation so easy; but, womanlike, when
she saw the storm was over and her own fears groundless, she at once
repeated the cause of offence. “Sunday so be it,” she said without looking up, “if Abel isn’t there on
Saturday!” Then she looked up saucily, though her heart was full of
fear of another outburst on the part of her impetuous lover. But the
window was empty; Eric had taken himself off, and with a pout she
resumed her work. She saw Eric no more till Sunday afternoon, after the
banns had been called the third time, when he came up to her before all
the people with an air of proprietorship which half-pleased and
half-annoyed her. “Not yet, mister!” she said, pushing him away, as the other girls
giggled. “Wait till Sunday next, if you please—the day after Saturday!”
she added, looking at him saucily. The girls giggled again, and the
young men guffawed. They thought it was the snub that touched him so
that he became as white as a sheet as he turned away. But Sarah, who
knew more than they did, laughed, for she saw triumph through the spasm
of pain that overspread his face. The week passed uneventfully; however, as Saturday drew nigh Sarah had
occasional moments of anxiety, and as to Eric he went about at
night-time like a man possessed. He restrained himself when others were
by, but now and again he went down amongst the rocks and caves and
shouted aloud. This seemed to relieve him somewhat, and he was better
able to restrain himself for some time after. All Saturday he stayed in
his own house and never left it. As he was to be married on the morrow,
the neighbours thought it was shyness on his part, and did not trouble
or notice him. Only once was he disturbed, and that was when the chief
boatman came to him and sat down, and after a pause said:

“Eric, I was over in Bristol yesterday. I was in the ropemaker’s
getting a coil to replace the one you lost the night of the storm, and
there I saw Michael Heavens of this place, who is a salesman there. He
told me that Abel Behenna had come home the week ere last on the _Star
of the Sea_ from Canton, and that he had lodged a sight of money in the
Bristol Bank in the name of Sarah Behenna. He told Michael so
himself—and that he had taken passage on the _Lovely Alice_ to
Pencastle. “Bear up, man,” for Eric had with a groan dropped his head
on his knees, with his face between his hands. “He was your old
comrade, I know, but you couldn’t help him. He must have gone down with
the rest that awful night. I thought I’d better tell you, lest it might
come some other way, and you might keep Sarah Trefusis from being
frightened. They were good friends once, and women take these things to
heart. It would not do to let her be pained with such a thing on her
wedding day!” Then he rose and went away, leaving Eric still sitting
disconsolately with his head on his knees. “Poor fellow!” murmured the chief boatman to himself; “he takes it to
heart. Well, well! right enough! They were true comrades once, and Abel
saved him!”

The afternoon of that day, when the children had left school, they
strayed as usual on half-holidays along the quay and the paths by the
cliffs. Presently some of them came running in a state of great
excitement to the harbour, where a few men were unloading a coal ketch,
and a great many were superintending the operation. One of the children
called out:

“There is a porpoise in the harbour mouth! We saw it come through the
blow-hole! It had a long tail, and was deep under the water!”

“It was no porpoise,” said another; “it was a seal; but it had a long
tail! It came out of the seal cave!” The other children bore various
testimony, but on two points they were unanimous—it, whatever “it” was,
had come through the blow-hole deep under the water, and had a long,
thin tail—a tail so long that they could not see the end of it. There
was much unmerciful chaffing of the children by the men on this point,
but as it was evident that they had seen something, quite a number of
persons, young and old, male and female, went along the high paths on
either side of the harbour mouth to catch a glimpse of this new
addition to the fauna of the sea, a long-tailed porpoise or seal. The
tide was now coming in. There was a slight breeze, and the surface of
the water was rippled so that it was only at moments that anyone could
see clearly into the deep water. After a spell of watching a woman
called out that she saw something moving up the channel, just below
where she was standing.