They looked upwards in the direction to which she pointed, and there, fluttering in the fresh April wind, they saw something--a rag--a white handkerchief--hanging from the dark mouth of a hollow in the cliff. This hollow in the cliff was about twelve feet above the sand, and at first sight appeared utterly inaccessible. “He is there!” cried Helen; “I am sure he is there!” “Yes,” said Mr. Jerningham, examining the face of the cliff; “there are niches cut here for foothold. Why, this must be the Saint’s Cave of which they have told us. Yes, finding himself overtaken by the tide, he _might_ have taken refuge here. It is just possible he might clamber to that opening.” “I know he was distinguished as a gymnast in Belgium,” said M. de Bergerac, eagerly. “I will run back and fetch the boatmen,” said Mr. Jerningham; “they are waiting for us yonder.” He pointed to the opening in the cliff, and hastened thither. “Holà!” shouted Theodore, “art thou up yonder, dear boy?” Helen fell on her knees among the rough stones and wet seaweed. “Oh! merciful Father, restore him to us!” she cried, with clasped hands. “Hear our prayers, oh, Giver of all good things; and give him back to us.” Her father watched her with tearful eyes. “My darling,” he said, raising her in his arms, “we must not hope too much. For pity’s sake, be firm. That handkerchief may mean nothing; or, if--if he is there, he may be no less lost to us.” “Call to him again, dear father. Tell him we are here.” “Holà!” shouted the Frenchman. “Eustace, if you are up yonder, answer your friends. Holà!” Again and again he repeated the call, but there was no answer. “How long they are coming--how long!” cried Helen, looking despairingly towards the sea. As she spoke, Mr. Jerningham reappeared in the opening of the cliff, with the two boatmen. They came running towards the cave, one of them carrying a rope. Both were bare-footed; and to them the scaling of St. Kentigern’s Cave was a small affair. But each opined that for a Southron it would be a difficult business. “A man can do desperate things when he is fighting for his life,” replied Mr. Jerningham. “How is it that this cave was overlooked in our search?” The men replied, rather vaguely, that the cave was too unlikely a place to search. They might as well have looked on the top of the cliffs. While Mr. Jerningham asked this question, one of the boatmen stuck his boathook into the cliff, and by the aid of this and the foothold cut in the craggy surface, clambered, cat-like, to the mouth of the little cave, and hung there, peering into the darkness. “There’s something here,” he said; and on this the second boatman, at Mr. Jerningham’s order, mounted on his shoulders, and hoisted his comrade into the cavern.