“I want to introduce you to my wife, Lighton. We have put the matter beyond all doubt. She is the boy’s mother.” It was no time for conventional greetings; anxiety and fear filled all hearts. All the party followed the Squire into the hall, where Queenie Arbuthnot was now standing, her face very white, her whole frame trembling with nervous excitement. They questioned her closely. She was incoherent at first, but Mrs. Arbuthnot’s kind and motherly sweetness did much to restore her self-command, and they were able at length to elicit the following facts. Phil had got himself into danger, and Bertie had gone down to him with the rope, as described in the last chapter. This errand had been successfully accomplished, and Phil, by aid of the rope round his waist, had been able to climb up in safety to the top of the cliff. Bertie meantime had remained quietly upon the ledge, not at all giddy or afraid, waiting for the rope to be let down to him. David had not attempted to throw the end of the rope to him, as he was afraid of his getting giddy with attempts to catch at it, but had let it down its whole length and then swung it slowly backwards and forwards until it came within the boy’s grasp. When the right moment came, Bertie had seized it, and that successfully; but then happened a catastrophe they had not reckoned upon. The weight of the swinging rope had jerked the child from his precarious foothold, and although his fall had not been unbroken, owing to his grasp upon the rope, yet he had slipped down very fast, and when the rope stopped he had fallen with some violence upon the sand and stones beneath. Those above could not judge how far he had fallen, but could see that he lay still and motionless as if stunned or hurt; and, whilst David and Phil hurried down to his assistance, Queenie ran off to the farmhouse to give the alarm, and then, with more forethought than might have been expected from her years, she had had her pony saddled and had ridden off to Dr. Lighton’s, so that he might be there as soon as Bertie arrived. It was impossible to gather from the little girl’s story what the amount of the injury was likely to be, but they were not kept long in suspense, for Phil came galloping up in a few minutes’ time, and, flinging himself off the pony, he rushed up to the Squire and cried,— “He’s coming directly. Farmer Bayliss says he doesn’t think there’s much harm done, unless he’s broken his arm. He’s not dead, though he hasn’t opened his eyes yet, and he doesn’t seem much hurt.” The next moment the pony cart turned in at the gate. David was driving, and a burly, jovial-looking farmer was sitting beside him, holding Bertie very tenderly in his arms.