Leycester caught up a telescope that stood on a seat beside them and gave it to him; he himself did not need a glass to see the dark, struggling figures, they were all too plain. For one second they stood as if benumbed, and then the echo of the shriek smote upon their ears, and the cliff was bare. The old man dropped the telescope and caught Leycester's arm as he made a bound toward the path. "No, no, sir!" he exclaimed. "No use to go up there, the boat! the boat!" and he ran to the beach. Leycester followed him like a man in a dream, and tearing off his coat, seized an oar mechanically. There was not a soul in sight, the peace of the Autumn evening rested on sea and shore, but in Leycester's ears the echo of that awful death-shriek rung as plainly as when he had first heard it. The landlord of the inn, an old sailor, rowed like a young man, and the boat rose over the waves and cleaved its way round the bay as if a dozen men were pulling. Not a word was spoken, the great beads of sweat stood on their foreheads, their hearts throbbed in unison with every stroke. Presently Leycester saw the old man relax his stroke and bend peering over the boat, and suddenly he dropped his oar and sprang up, pointing to a dark object floating on the top of the waves. Leycester rose too, calm and acute enough now, and in another minute Jasper Adelstone was lying at their feet. Leycester uttered no cry as his eyes fell upon the pale, set face, but he sank down in the boat and put his hands to his eyes. When he looked up he saw the old man quietly putting his oar into its place. "Yes, sir," he said, gravely answering Leycester's glance, "he is dead, stone dead; row back, sir." "But the other!" said Leycester, in a whisper. The old man shook his head and glanced upward at the cliff. "He is up there, sir. Alive or dead, he is up there. He didn't fall into the sea or we should have met him." "Then--then," said Leycester, his voice struggling for calm, "he may be alive!" "We shall soon see, sir; row for life or death." Leycester needed no further prompting, and the boat sped back. By the time they had gained the shore a crowd had collected, and Leycester felt, rather than saw, that the motionless, lifeless form that had haunted him from its place at the bottom of the boat was carried off--felt, rather than was conscious, that he was speeding up the cliff followed by the landlord and half-a-dozen fishermen. Silent and breathless they gained the top, and stood for a moment uncertain; then Leycester saw one of them step forward with a rope. "Now, mates," the old man said, "which of us goes down?" There was a moment's silence, then Leycester stepped forward and took up the rope. "I," he said. It was but a word, but no one ventured to dispute his decision. Quietly and calmly they fastened the rope round his waist, leaving a loop lower down. He had left his coat in the boat, and stood bareheaded for a moment. The old man stood beside him, calm and grave.