He did not cry any more, but stood with his crutch planted by the edge of the widening stream, and looked toward them.

And Taffy looked at George.

“I know,” said George quietly, and gathered up his reins.  “Stand aside, please.”

As they drew aside, not understanding, he called to his mare.  One living creature, at any rate, could still trust all to George Vyell.  She hurtled past them and rose at the tamarisk-hedge blindly.  Followed silence—­a long silence; then a thud on the beach below and a scuffle of stones; silence again, and then the cracking of twigs as Taffy plunged after, through the tamarisks, and slithered down the cliff.

The light died down as his feet touched the flat slippery stones; died down, and was renewed again and showed up horse and rider scarce twenty yards ahead, labouring forward, the mare sinking fetlock deep at every plunge.

At his fourth stride Taffy’s feet, too, began to sink, but at every stride he gained something.  The riding may be superb, but thirteen stone is thirteen stone.  Taffy weighed less than eleven.

He caught up with George on the very edge of the water.  “Make her swim it!” he panted.  “Her feet mustn’t touch here.”  George grunted.  A moment later all three were in the water, the tide swirling them sideways, sweeping Taffy against the mare.  His right hand touched her flank at every stroke.

The tide swept them upwards—­upwards for fifteen yards at least, though the channel measured less than eight feet.  The child, who had been standing opposite the point where they took the water, hobbled wildly along shore.  The light on the cliff behind sank and rose again.

“The crutch,” Taffy gasped.  The child obeyed, laying it flat on the brink and pushing it toward them.  Taffy gripped it with his left hand, and with his right found the mare’s bridle.  George was bending forward.

“No—­not that way!  You can’t get back!  The wreck, man!—­it’s firmer—­”

But George reached out his hand and dragged the child towards him and on to his saddle-bow.  “Mine,” he said quietly, and twitched the rein.  The brave mare snorted, jerked the bridle from Taffy’s hand, and headed back for the shore she had left.

Rider, horse, and child seemed to fall away from him into the night.  He scrambled out, and snatching the crutch ran along the brink, staring at their black shadows.  By-and-by the shadows came to a standstill.  He heard the mare panting, the creaking of saddle-leather came across the nine or ten feet of dark water.

“It’s no go,” said George’s voice; then to the mare, “Sally, my dear, it’s no go.”  A moment later he asked more sharply: 

“How far can you reach?”

Taffy stepped in until the waves ran by his knees.  The sand held his feet, but beyond this he could not stand against the current.  He reached forward holding the crutch at arm’s length.