Meanwhile, Dorothy, seating herself as securely as she could above, seized him by the ankles. Then Ernest stretched his hand downwards, and, gripping Eva by the wrist, began to put out his strength. Had the three found any time to indulge their sense of humour, they might have found the appearance they presented intensely ludicrous; but they did not, for the very good reason that for thirty seconds or so their lives were not worth a farthing's purchase. Ernest strained and strained, but Eva was a large woman, although she danced so lightly, and the bulge over which he had to pull her was almost perpendicular. Presently he felt that Dorothy was beginning to slip above him.
“She must make an effort, or we shall all go,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Drive your knees into the sand and throw yourself forward, it is your only chance!” gasped Ernest to the exhausted girl beneath him.
She realised the meaning of his words, and gave a desperate struggle.
“Pull, Doll; for God's sake, pull! she's coming.”
Then followed a second of despairing effort, and she was beside him on the spot where he lay; another struggle and the three sank exhausted on the top of the cliff, rescued from a most imminent death.
“By Jove!” ejaculated Ernest, “that was a near thing!”
Dorothy nodded; she was too exhausted to speak. Eva smiled and fainted.
He turned to her with a little cry and began to chafe her cold hands.
“Oh, she's dead, Doll!” he said.
“No, she has fainted. Give me your hat.”
Before he could do so she had seized it, and was running as quickly as her exhaustion would allow towards a spring that bubbled up a hundred yards away, and which once had been the water supply of the old abbey.
Ernest went on rubbing for a minute or more, but without producing the slightest effect. He was in despair. The beautiful face beneath him looked so wan and death-like; all the red had left her lips. In his distress, and scarcely knowing what he did, he bent over them and kissed them, once, twice, thrice. That mode of restoration is not recommended in the medicine chest “guide,” but in this instance it was not without its effect. Presently a faint and tremulous glow diffused itself over the pale cheek; in another moment it deepened to a most unmistakable blush. (Was it a half-consciousness of Ernest's new method of treatment, or merely the returning blood that produced the blush? Let us not inquire.) Next Eva sighed, opened her eyes, and sat up.
“Oh, you are not dead!”
“No, I don't think so, but I can't quite remember. What was it? Ah, I know”; and she shut her eyes, as though to keep out some horrid sight. Presently she opened them again. “You have saved my life,” she said. “If it had not been for you, I should have now been lying crushed at the foot of that dreadful cliff. I am so grateful.”
At that moment Dorothy came back with a little water in Ernest's black hat, for in her hurry she had spilled most of it.
“Here, drink some of this,” she said.
Eva tried to do so; but a billycock hat is not a very convenient drinking vessel till you get used to it, and she upset more than she swallowed. But what she drank did her good. She put down the hat, and they all three laughed a little; it was so funny drinking out of an old hat.
“Were you long down there before we came?” asked Dorothy.
“No, not long; only about half a minute on that dreadful bulge.”
“What on earth did you go there for?” said Ernest, putting his dripping hat on to his head, for the sun was hot.
“I wanted to see the bones. I am very active, and thought that I could get up quite safely; but sand is so slippery. Oh, I forgot; look here”; and she pointed to a thin cord that was tied to her wrist.
“What is that?”
“Why, it is tied to such an odd lead box that I found in the sand. Mr. Jones said the other day that he thought it was a bit of an old coffin, but it is not, it is a lead box with a rusty iron handle. I could not move it much; but I had this bit of cord with me—I thought I might want it getting down, you know—so I tied one end of it to the handle.”
“Let us pull it up,” said Ernest, unfastening the cord from Eva's wrist, and beginning to tug.
But the case was too heavy for him to lift alone; indeed, it proved as much as they could all three manage to drag it to the top. However, up it came at last. Ernest examined it carefully, and came to the conclusion that it was very ancient. The massive iron handle at the top of the oblong case was almost eaten through with rust, and the lead itself was much corroded, although, from fragments that still clung to it, it was evident that it had once been protected by an outer case of oak. Evidently the case had been washed out of the churchyard where it had lain for centuries.
“This is quite exciting,” said Eva, who was now sufficiently interested to forget all about her escape. “What can be in it?—treasure or papers, I should think.”
“I don't know,” answered Ernest; “I should hardly think that they would bury such things in a churchyard. Perhaps it is a small baby.”
“Ernest,” broke in Dorothy, in an agitated way, “I don't like that thing. I can't tell you why, but I am sure it is unlucky. I wish that you would throw it back to where it came from, or into the sea. It is a horrid thing, and we have nearly lost our lives over it already.”
“Nonsense, Doll! whoever thought that you were so superstitious? Why, perhaps it is full of money or jewels. Let's take it home and open it.”
“I am not superstitious, and you can take it home if you like. I will not touch it; I tell you it is a horrid thing.”
“All right Doll, then you shan't have a share of the spoil. Miss Ceswick and I will divide it. Will you help me to carry it to the house, Miss Ceswick?—that is, unless you are afraid of it, like Doll.”
“Oh no,” she answered, “I am not afraid; I am dying of curiosity to see what is inside.”
Chapter X: What Eva Found
“You are sure you are not too tired?” said Ernest, after a moment's consideration.
“No, indeed, I have quite recovered,” she answered with a blush.
Ernest blushed too, from sympathy probably, and went to pick up a bough that lay beneath a stunted oak-tree which grew in the ruins of the abbey, on the spot where once the altar had stood. This he ran through the iron handle, and, directing Eva to take hold of one end, he took the other himself, Dorothy marching solemnly in front.
As it happened, Jeremy and Mr. Cardus were strolling along together smoking, when suddenly they caught sight of the cavalcade advancing, and hurried to meet it.
“What is all this?” asked Mr. Cardus of Dorothy, who was now nearly fifty yards ahead of the other two.
“Well, Reginald, it is a
