They were beyond the grounds of the Homestead, but had to go a little further to get into the path, when they paused above a sort of dip or amphitheatre of rock around a little bay, whilst Rachel began telling of the smugglers’ traditions that haunted the place—­how much brandy and silk had there been landed in the time of the great French war, and how once, when hard pressed, a party of smugglers, taking a short cut in the moonlight midnight across the Homestead gardens, had encountered an escaped Guinea-pig, and no doubt taking it for the very rat without a tail, in whose person Macbeth’s witch was to do, and to do, and to do, had been nearly scared out of their wits.

Her story was cut short by a cry of distress from the dog, and looking down, they perceived that the poor fellow had been creeping about the rocks, and had descended to the little cove, whence he was incapable of climbing up again.  They called encouragingly, and pretended to move away, but he only moaned more despairingly, and leapt in vain.

“He has hurt his foot!” exclaimed Rachel; “I must go down after him.  Yes, Don, yes, poor fellow, I’m coming.”

“My dear Curtia, don’t leap into the gulf!”

“Oh, it’s no great height, and the tide will soon fill up this place.”

“Don’t! don’t!  You’ll never be able to get up again.”

But Rachel was already scrambling down, and, in effect, she was sure-footed and used to her own crags, nor was the distance much above thirty foot, so that she was soon safe on the shingle, to the extreme relief of poor Don, shown by grateful whines; but he was still evidently in pain, and Rachel thought his leg was broken.  And how to get up the rock, with a spaniel that when she tried to lift it became apparently twice the size she had always believed it to be, and where both hands as well as feet were required, with the sea fast advancing too?

“My dear Rachel, you will only break your neck, too, it is quite vain to try!”

“If you could just come to that first rock, perhaps I could push him up to you!”

Bessie came to it, but screamed.  “Oh, I’m not steady; I couldn’t do it!  Besides, it would hurt him so, and I know you would fall.  Poor fellow, it is very sad; but indeed, Rachel, your life is more precious than a dog’s!”

“I can’t leave him to drown,” said Rachel, making a desperate scramble, and almost overbalancing herself.  “Here, if you could only get him by the scrough of his neck, it would not hurt him so much; poor Don, yes, poor fellow!” as he whined, but still showed his confidence in the touching manner of a sensible dog, knowing he is hurt for his good.  Bessie made another attempt, but, unused to rocks, she was uneasy about her footing, and merely frightened herself.  “Indeed,” she said, “I had better run and call some one; I won’t be long, and you are really quite safe.”

“Yes, quite safe.  If you were down here and I above I am sure he could do it easily.”