A stream came down through a glorious cleft in the rugged height. There were trees and ferns, the former a bit stunted from sea-wind; but Bell Ridge was a barrier on one side, and on the other, the coast-line trending outward made a shield. Two thermos flasks and a weighty basket went ashore with the crew in the dinghy. It was some while after five then; but, as Adrian said the tide would be in their favour till half-past nine, the feeling of ease was delightful. No hurry. No bother about wind or tide. Home was just round the point by sea, and perhaps a mile by land, as the crow flies. More, of course, if climbing is allowed for. Soon after six Adrian said he should bathe. Crow unearthed a magazine, and Pamela said she would climb to the top and look at the view. Everybody agreed that it "was all right", and became absorbed in their different occupations. Time passed so swiftly that it had presently reached the hour of half-past seven. Then Adrian, who had become busy on the yawl in some unexpected direction, came ashore and said it was time to be lifting anchor. Christobel shut the magazine, wishing next month was due to-morrow, and gazed at him with vague eyes. "Wake up, old lady; we ought to be getting back. Where’s that idiot Pam?" "Oh, isn’t she on the shore?" said Christobel, stretching. "How heavenly it looks!" "Yes, I know, but it’s about eight o’clock--or soon will be. We’d better get things on board; I can come and take her off." "Whistle--call," suggested Crow, getting up from her fern seat. Adrian did his best, which was something to be proud of, in the noise line. Christobel had to tell him to stop; she said the lighthouse at Ramsworthy would send the boat up, thinking it was a ship in distress. They both stood on the edge of the rippled sea, looking up at the cliff and the wooded gully that cut it from top to the rocky base. "_There_!" exclaimed Crow. "Pam--e--la, _hullo--o_!" Adrian’s strong voice woke echoes that called and called again. Clear of the bushes, on the summit stood the person they wanted, looking down at them apparently, but never a word said she, nor did she make sign or gesture. She just stared. Christobel waved her handkerchief, waved her hat, joined in Adrian’s shout: "Go--_ing_!" Anyone could have heard much farther off than the cliff top. True, it was high, but the scene was so still, the waves but a ripple, and the wind a breath. "She’s mad," announced Adrian; "she’s raving, Crow. I told you she was. If she isn’t coming, why can’t she answer? I must say this positively passes--well, never mind--get in--we’ll go. If she comes down I’ll fetch her off, but I shall certainly tell her what I think. Otherwise she can walk home." "I don’t understand," said Crow. "Of course you don’t. People are not expected to understand lunatics." Adrian said that and a few more things more pointed than flattering on the way out to the yawl.