In fact, they forgot Julia in the intense interest of their pursuit as they wandered on, for Cynthia had to be helped from rock to rock, as they went out as far as the water would allow, and she had to make daring jumps of a few inches over rushing, gurgling streams of water that ebbed and flowed amongst the stones. Then the tiny point of her pretty shoe was always poking itself inquiringly into crevices, out of which Harry had to fish red anemones or unusually large limpets or mussels. Then _they_ had a mania for gathering enough periwinkles for tea, Cynthia declaring that she would wriggle them out with a pin and eat them. But when about a dozen had been found, the search was given up for some other pursuit; perhaps it was a well-ground oyster-shell, all pearly, or a peculiar bit of seaweed; and once, close up under the cliffs where the path was very narrow, and the sea right in, the rocks were so rough and the way so awkward that Harry had to help little Cynthia very much--so much, that if a boat had been passing its occupants would have seen two handsome young faces in extremely close proximity. But no boat was passing to make Cynthia turn so scarlet as she did, hence the marvel; and they went on in their love-dream a little longer, thinking what a wonderfully bright and happy world this was, and how beautiful sea, sky, rock, and beach had become, glorified as they were by their young happy love, when Cynthia suddenly awoke. "Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed, with the tears in her eyes, "how cruel, to be sure. Poor Julie! Let's make haste back." "Oh, yes. She'll be rested by now." "I was so thoughtless," half sobbed Cynthia. "She is so nervous, and she will be thinking she sees that dreadful man." "Who is not likely to be here, my darling," said Artingale, smiling. "No, but let's make haste back," cried Cynthia. Artingale seemed disposed to loiter, but Cynthia was in earnest, and they hurried back towards where they had left Julia seated on a rock, one of the many scattered about. It was time they did, for Artingale's words just uttered were not the words of truth. PART TWO, CHAPTER TWO. THE STRAY LAMB. "Don't be alarmed, Cynthia; these rocks are so much alike, and we wandered a good way." "But I am alarmed, Harry; I am sure it was here." "It does look like the place, certainly," he said; "but there is another heap further on." "No, no, this must be the stone. I remember that little pool of clear water, and the patch of seaweed. Oh, we ought not to have left her!" Artingale could not endorse those words, for he thought it very pleasant to have been alone with Cynthia for the past ten minutes--half an hour-- hour--or two hours--he had not the slightest idea how long it had been; but the trouble and dread in her agitated young face were so marked that he began to throw off the good-humoured carelessness he felt disposed to show, and bestirred himself to find the missing girl.