Pamela looked away--shut her eyes, opened them and stared down at the sea, moving everlastingly through the shifting haze of the white fog. Everything was the same. Reube was still unconscious. She glanced at the poor foot, it still seemed the wrong way round. Then she looked back at the girl, and saw--certainly herself--to all appearance. A tall slim creature in a blue serge skirt, tan stockings, tan shoes, a Japanese silk blouse, and chamois leather gauntlet gloves. It was almost a relief to realize that she wore a dark knitted tam-o’-shanter--which Pam was not wearing that day, though she often wore one. Over the shoulder of this double hung a thick plait of lovely bright hair. Pamela glanced down at her own plait to compare them, and her sudden thought was-- "Hers is lighter." Pausing at a distance of some yards, the stranger stared hard at Pamela, and Pamela was so absorbed in staring at her in return that she nearly slid down the Beak into the sea. "What is the matter?" That was the first thing the double asked, and her voice was a little unexpected. It was rather deep, and she spoke slowly--carefully--with the least touch of something different in the accent. Pamela cleared her throat; she felt nervous, she felt the least bit as though nothing were real. "It’s little Reube Ensor," she said, "he’s hurt." "Reube Ensor!" repeated the other girl with care, "how did he come upon this cliff?" "He’s only six. He got away from the other children coming from school. I suppose he wanted to climb. Anyway, he’s hurt his foot awfully. I’ve been trying to get him up for ages, but it’s appallingly difficult, because he’s fainted and he can’t do a thing for himself, you see." She rushed the words with a sort of friendliness, yet all the while she was quite absorbed in the girl and hardly knew what it was she said. "I shall help you," said the stranger; and came along in an active, sure-footed way, glancing about as she came. Pamela crossed over Reube’s small body to the right side, to make room for the other girl who, kneeling, looked at him, at his leg and foot--Pamela meanwhile looking at her. "This is the boy of the farm on this hill," said the girl, and raised her eyes, meeting Pamela’s. They stared straight at each other, and the original Pam--so to speak--was conscious rather thankfully that this interloping "Pam" was not like her in the face. She was handsomer. She was very handsome, but she had not Pamela’s elusive charm and daintiness of outline. Her skin was fair and untanned; but her eyes were dark, long shaped, and of a red-brown colour, with dark lashes; her eyebrows were long and cleanly pencilled, set rather high above her eyes. Her nose was the least bit aquiline, and she had those cut-upward nostrils that give a curiously disdainful air; it was a beautiful nose. Her mouth was beautiful too, very well shaped, but with rather thin lips, and her chin was round and full.