A shout outside and Mr Curtis and his party joined him. In the flurry of his excitement and the exhaustion following upon his perilous and violent exertions, Eustace handed over his discovery to the vicar. The next moment he would have given anything to have kept it quietly to himself. Why, he could not for the life of him have told--one of those strange and most unerring instincts. "I fancy there's no doubt now as to the poor fellow's fate," said Mr Curtis. "He must have fallen from above, and even if he lived after it, must have been carried away by the tide. See, the high-water mark is a good many feet above our heads as we stand here." They looked up. It was as he said. Even at the highest point in the fissure, wherever they could stand, the wet slimy water-line was beyond their reach. A shout was heard above, and Jem Pollock's face could be seen peering over the brink. "The tide!" he shouted. "Get away out o' that as fast as ever ye can. She's a comin' into the bight like a racer, and it'll take ye all your time." No further warning was necessary, and they hastened to act upon this one. Hubert Dorrien's sad fate was established beyond doubt, and unless his body was ultimately washed up on the beach, he would be no more seen until the day when the sea should give up her dead. An hour later the party joined hands on the cliff. Further search was useless, for it was now quite dark. Next day it might be continued; and then it would be not for the living, but for the mangled remnants of the dead. "I have greatly to thank you, Mr Ingelow," said the General, his face very white and set and his speech forced. "Your help has been most valuable, and of the courage and energy you have displayed I cannot think too highly. And to you, too, my men, I must tender my thanks for your efforts towards the rescue or recovery of my unfortunate son. I cannot talk more about it at present, but you may be sure I shall not forget it. Good-night." He extended his hand to Eustace, who warmly grasped it. "Believe me, General Dorrien, I would gladly have done more to have met with better success," he said in a tone of sympathetic respect. And Eustace, in the midst of that sorrowful scene, could not feel so depressed as he told himself he ought, for athwart it there smiled upon him, though mournfully now, Nellie's sweet face, and he felt she was nearer within his reach than he had of late so much as dared to dream. The party separated on the dark cliff's brow and the General and Mr Curtis rode sadly home. And that night in the stately mansion a bitter cry went up, and the voice of great mourning--a mother sorrowing for her lost and passionately loved son, whose voice she was destined never again to hear on this side of the grave. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. "DEATH'S ALTAR, BY THE LONE SHORE."