CHAPTER XI

THE CHILDREN ARE MISSING

BERYL little thought how near her father was to her when she held her class on that eventful Sunday afternoon. Mr. Hollys had never been known to come home without giving due warning to his household; but for once, circumstances had led him to depart from his usual practice in this respect.

Business of an unexpected nature had suddenly called him to Bristol at the end of the week, and his business being accomplished by an early hour on Saturday, it struck him as a happy thought, that since he was half-way between London and Egloshayle, he might as well go on to the latter place, and spend the Sunday there with Beryl.

How surprised the child would be at his unexpected arrival! That it would be a glad surprise, he felt no doubt. His heart grew warm within him at the thought of seeing his darling again that evening, and hearing her joyous welcome.

But the plan which Mr. Hollys without further debate determined to carry out did not prove so happy a one as he deemed it.

The express for Plymouth had started an hour earlier, and the train by which he was obliged to travel was a slow one, stopping at every station. Mr. Hollys thought he had never made so tedious a journey, and his patience was severely tried, for, as it was market-day at almost every town on the line, the train was continually delayed, and when it reached Plymouth, half an hour after the appointed time, he found to his vexation that the last train by which he could proceed to Egloshayle had already gone.

Mr. Hollys thought that his plan had been a foolish one, when he learned that there was not another train that would answer his purpose till noon on the following day. He went to the nearest hotel, and finding comfortable quarters there, tried to solace himself with the anticipation of how amusing it would be to see Beryl's astonishment when he suddenly and unexpectedly presented himself at home in the middle of Sunday afternoon.

Mr. Hollys had ceased to feel any annoyance at the tiresome delay by the time he reached Egloshayle the next day.

He was in excellent spirits as he alighted from the train at the little country station. There was no conveyance to take him home, but he did not wish for one. He felt that he should enjoy the long walk on this bright summer day. He chose the longest path, which skirted the cliffs, that he might enjoy the strong sea air to be breathed on those heights. He thought, too, that by going this way he might perhaps surprise the children in some nook on the beach. But as he climbed the steep hill from the station he saw that the tide was high, and the waves breaking turbulently at the foot of the cliff. Not a strip of beach was visible.

"Ah, well, I shall find them in the garden," he said to himself, as he hurried on, eager to embrace his little Beryl.

Mr. Hollys had some news for Beryl, and he felt rather doubtful how she would receive it. He had found a governess for her at last, a highly-educated and accomplished young lady, whom his friend Mrs. Everard could highly recommend. He believed he was doing the right thing for his child in engaging this governess for her, yet in his foolish fondness, he felt sorry to think how Beryl's freedom would be curtailed and her actions restrained.

"Naughty little puss, she will not like it, I fear," he said to himself with a smile. "After running wild like a young gipsy for so long, it will be hard to settle down to regular lessons, and submit to rules and regulations. But it is high time some one took her in hand. I ought to have seen to it before; that letter was disgraceful."

Soon Mr. Hollys was within sight of his home. He looked about for the children, but they were not visible. The house appeared quiet and sleepy, as it stood with every blind closely drawn, in the glare of the afternoon sun.

He walked round the garden, hoping to find Beryl there; but the place seemed deserted. Then he entered the house by the glass-door leading into the garden. The Sunday peace of the house was perfect. Not a sound broke the stillness as he stood in the empty hall, and listened for the children's voices.

The quietness made him uneasy. He hastily opened the drawing-room door. The children were not there, and he quietly closed the door again, without rousing his sister, who was taking her afternoon nap.

Mr. Hollys now ran upstairs to the nursery. Lucy, who sat there reading, was startled at his unexpected appearance.

"Where is Miss Beryl, Lucy?" he demanded.

"Miss Beryl, sir?" said Lucy, looking scared. "In the garden, I believe, sir."

"No; she is not, for I have just come through the garden," said Mr. Hollys.

"Perhaps they are down on the beach, sir; they often like to sit there on a Sunday afternoon."

"That is impossible, for it is high tide. Do you mean to say that you do not know where they are?" demanded Mr. Hollys, with anger in his tone.

"I cannot say exactly where they are, sir," said Lucy, growing more frightened. "Miss Beryl likes to go away by herself, but I will find them."

Lucy left the room, followed by Mr. Hollys, in whose heart, anger was fast giving place to fear.

"You do not think they can have lingered in some corner of the beach till they were overtaken by the tide?" he asked in a low tone.

"Oh no," answered Lucy, white and trembling; "Miss Beryl would know better than that. She is very careful is Miss Beryl."

"You have no right to trust to her carefulness," returned Mr. Hollys indignantly. "It is your place to look after them, and you should not have trusted them out of your sight."

They went out of the house. Lucy turned to make further search in the garden, and Mr. Hollys hastened along the road leading to the village. Presently he met a child, and stopped to ask her if she had seen Miss Beryl lately.

Yes, the child had seen Miss Beryl; she had something to tell him, but Mr. Hollys, in his impatience, found it difficult to understand her broad, Cornish speech.

He made her repeat her words again and again, till their meaning grew intelligible. She had seen Miss Beryl on the beach that afternoon; she had been in the cave with Miss Beryl and another young lady and several children, and they had all been looking at a lovely picture.

As he thus made out the sense of her words, Mr. Hollys knew in a moment what had happened. He turned from her, and ran at full speed towards the group of fishermen who stood lounging against the low wall below which the waves were beating. Joe Pollard saw him coming, and stepped forward to meet him.

"Joe," said Mr. Hollys, as he came up white and breathless, "my little daughter is missing. I fear she has been overtaken by the tide in the long cave. Have you a boat at hand?"

A look of fear and pain crossed Joe's honest face as he heard these words. Mr. Hollys could understand that look only too well. He knew that Joe thought the children's fate already sealed, if indeed it was as he feared, and the tide had surprised them in the cave.

"Ay, sir," he replied. "My boat is moored just below, and we can be off in two minutes. But God grant you be mistaken, and the young ladies safe ashore! I saw the other children come up from the beach an hour ago, and I made sure the little missies had gone home too."

Joe led the way down the steps as he spoke, and in another minute they were in the boat. Mr. Hollys seized an oar, and began to pull with an energy stimulated by heart-sickening dread. Not a word was spoken as they rounded the rocks, and made for the mouth of the cave. Already the tide was on the turn, and so strong was the opposing current, that they had great difficulty in effecting an entrance. When at last the boat shot into the cave, they saw no sign of life there. The walls, lined with wet and slimy seaweed, showed the height to which the water had risen. It seemed clear that if the children had been there when the waves burst in, they must have perished.

"Beryl, Beryl!" cried Mr. Hollys in despair; and the hollow roof mocked him with a dull echo of his words.

Meanwhile Joe's quick eye had caught sight of a sheet of paper floating on the surface of the water. He leant forward, and with his oar drew it towards him.

"What is that?" asked Mr. Hollys, as he saw Joe take something from the water.

Joe unrolled the paper, and handed it to him. Wet and stained though it was, Mr. Hollys recognised it at once as one of the coloured pictures he had purchased at Beryl's request. The sight of it seemed to confirm his worst fear, and he dropped it with a groan.

"Joe," he said presently, as if clinging to hope in the very face of despair, "Beryl could swim; is it quite impossible for her to have escaped?"

Joe shook his head. He shrank from the thought of the pain he must give, yet he spoke what he believed to be the truth. "I canna think her swimming would help her much, sir. The rocks are sharp and steep here, and she would need to swim a long way to find a dry footing. Besides, there is a strongish undercurrent just here."

"God help me!" cried her father, shuddering at the thought of his darling Beryl lying cold and dead in the depths of the sea.

For some minutes neither of them spoke, then Joe said gently, "We can do no good by staying longer in the cave. Don't you think, sir, I had better row you back to the shore? If it is as we fear, it is not here that we shall find the young ladies."

And Mr. Hollys knew that Joe meant him to understand that if the children were drowned, the swiftly-ebbing tide must have carried their bodies far out to sea.

He could not speak; but the boatman took his silence for consent, and without another word, rowed the still, sorrow-stricken man to the landing-place.