The Mermaid | Page 5

The cliff here was
not more than twenty feet above the high tide, which surged and swept
deep at its base. The grass upon the top was short; young fir-trees stood
here and there. All this Caius saw. The woman he could not see at first.
Then, in a minute, he did see her--standing on the edge of the bank, her
form outlined against what light there was in sea and sky. He saw her
swing something from her. The thing she threw, whatever it was, was
whirled outwards, and then fell into the sea. With a splash, it sank.
The young man's mind stood still with horror. The knowledge came to
him as he heard the splash that it was the little child she had flung away.
He threw off his basket and coat. Another moment, and he would have
jumped from the bank; but before he had jumped he heard the elder girl
groaning as if in desperate fear, and saw that mother and daughter were
grappled together, their figures swaying backwards and forwards in
convulsive struggle. He did not doubt that the mother was trying to
drown this child also. Another low wild groan from the girl, and Caius
flung himself upon them both. His strength released the girl, who drew
away a few paces; but the woman struggled terribly to get to her again.
Both the girl and little boy stood stupidly within reach.
"Run--run--to the road, and call for help!" gasped Caius to the children,
but they only stood still.
He was himself shouting with all his strength, and holding the
desperate woman upon the ground, where he had thrown her.

Every moment he was watching the dark water, where he thought he
saw a little heap of light clothes rise and sink again further off.
"Run with your brother out of the way, so that I can leave her," he
called to the girl. He tried with a frantic gesture to frighten them into
getting out of the mother's reach. He continued to shout for aid as he
held down the woman, who with the strength of insanity was struggling
to get hold of the children.
A man's voice gave answering shout. Caius saw someone climbing the
fence. He left the woman and jumped into the sea.
Down under the cold black water he groped about. He was not an
expert swimmer and diver. He had never been under water so long
before, but so strong had been his impulse to reach the child that he
went a good way on the bottom in the direction in which he had
thought he saw the little body floating. Then he knew that he came up
empty-handed and was swimming on the dark surface, hearing
confused cries and imprecations from the shore. He wanted to dive and
seek again for the child below, but he did not know how to do this
without a place to leap from. He let himself sink, but he was out of
breath. He gasped and inhaled the water, and then, for dear life's sake,
he swam to keep his head above it.
The water had cooled his excitement; a feeling of utter helplessness and
misery came over him. So strong was his pity for the little sad-eyed
child that he was almost willing to die in seeking her; but all hope of
finding was forsaking him. He still swam in the direction in which he
thought the child drifted as she rose and sank. It did not occur to him to
be surprised that she had drifted so far until he realized that he was out
of hearing of the sounds from the shore. His own swimming, he well
knew, could never have taken him so far and fast. There was a little
sandy island lying about three hundred yards out. At first he hoped to
strike the shallows near it quickly, but found that the current of the now
receding tide was racing down the channel between the island and the
shore, out to the open sea. That little body was, no doubt, being sucked
outward in this rush of water--out to the wide water where he could not
find her. He told himself this when he found at what a pace he was

going, and knew that his best chance of ever returning was to swim
back again.
So he gave up seeking the little girl, and turned and swam as best he
could against the current, and recognised slowly that he was making no
headway, but by using all his strength could only hold his present place
abreast of the outer point of the island, and a good way from it. The
water was bitterly cold; it chilled him. He was far too much occupied in
fighting the current