“Harold dear, I must leave you and go and get help; you will die of cold if we have to stay out all night. But first I must make you as comfortable as I can. Which pocket is your knife in?” He told her, and she succeeded in getting it out without hurting him. Then she took the jersey from under his head, cut off the sleeve that belonged to the injured arm, and contrived to slip the warm garment over his body and right arm; took off her own jersey, and laid it under his head, gave him a kiss and stroked his fair hair, and told him to lie still and go to sleep, and she would be back soon. And then she started down the rocks, marking her way carefully that she might recollect it when she returned, and stepping into the boat, pulled westwards as fast as she could. The sun was setting when she reached the village. Her news spread like wildfire. Her father borrowed a horse, and rode off to the nearest town for a doctor; her mother put on her bonnet and went to break the news to Harold’s mother. By the time Molly, still steady of purpose though stiff and tired, had eaten such a meal as she could get down, and put up some more provisions and some brandy for Harold, four stalwart fishermen were ready with a big boat and lanterns, and were waiting for her on the beach. Tired as she was, Molly would have liked to have taken an oar, and even asked to be allowed to do so. She could not bear to be doing nothing; she was in a state of restless activity and energy. One of the men laughed, and bade her lie down in the boat and go to sleep. But an older man, who saw her dark eyes sparkling in the moonlight with a strange wildness, did Molly a good turn. “Give her the tiller, Dick,” he said: “don’t you see the lass must be at something? Come, Molly, lass, steer us straight, and tell us all about you and the lad.” So Molly took the helm, and went over the story with them again, and kind old Martin kept asking her to describe this or that once more and once again, and they pulled so strongly and quickly that they were at the Red Cliffs long before she expected. Then she asked them to shout, and held her hands to her ears in hopes of catching an answer from the cliff, and after the second shout there came a feeble answer. She led the way up the rocks in the moonlight. They found Harold very cold and in pain; but the brandy soon revived him, and he even contrived to eat a little.