England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, English
And there was Mr. Herapath fishing from the ledge. It made me giddy to
look at him. The rock overhung the water so much that he could not
stand upright; the first person who fished there must have learned to
curl himself up from much sleeping in Norwegian beds, which were short
for me. I thought of this as I watched him, and I laughed, and was for
going on. But when I had walked a few yards, meaning to pass round the
rear of the cliff, I began to fancy all sorts of foolish things might
happen. I felt sure that I should have no more peace or pleasure if I
left him there. I hesitated. Yes, I would. I would go down, and ask
him to leave the place; and, of course, he would do it.
I lost no time, but ran down the slope. My way lay over loose shale
mingled with large stones, and it was steep. It is wonderful how
swiftly a thing that cannot be undone is done, and we are left
wishing--oh, so vainly--that we could put the world, and all things in
it, back by a few seconds. I was checking myself near the bottom, when
a big stone on which I stepped moved under me. The shale began to slip
in a mass, and the stone to roll. It was done in a moment. I stayed
myself, that was easy, but the stone took two bounds, jumped sideways,
struck the piece of board which only rested lightly at either end, and
before I could take it in the little bridge plunged end first into the
current, which swept it out of sight in an instant.
He threw up his hands, for he had turned, and we both saw it happen.
He made indeed as if he would try to save it, but that was impossible.
Then, while I cowered in dismay, he waved his arm to me in the
direction of home--again and again. The roar of the falls drowned what
he said, but I guessed his meaning. I could not help him myself, but I
could fetch help. It was three miles to Breistolen, rough rocky ones,
and I doubted whether he could keep his cramped position with that
noise deafening him, and the endless whirling stream before his eyes,
while I was going and coming. But there was no better way; and even as
I wavered, he signalled to me again imperatively. For an instant
everything seemed to go round with me, but it was not the time for
that, and I tried to collect myself, and harden my heart. Up the bank
I went steadily, and once at the top set off at a rim homewards.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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