"You did," he persisted, "and you ran away. Why did you run away?" "I couldn't help it," Beth confessed; then she uttered an exclamation. "Look! look! the tide! What shall we do?" He turned and saw their danger for the first time. "Our only way of escape is by the cliffs," Beth said, "unless a boat comes by." "And the cliffs are perpendicular just here," he rejoined, after carefully surveying them. They looked into each other's faces blankly. "I can't swim--can you?" he asked. Beth shook her head. "What is to be done?" he exclaimed. "There is nothing to be done, I think," she answered quietly. "We may see a boat, but hardly anybody ever comes along the cliffs. We might shout, though." They did so until they were hoarse, but there was no response, and the tide came creeping up over the sand. "How calm it is!" Beth observed. He looked at her curiously. "I don't believe you're a bit afraid," he said. "_I_'m in a desperate funk." "I don't believe we're going to be drowned, and I always know what's coming," she answered. Then after a little she asked him his name. "Alfred," he answered; "and yours?" "Beth--Beth Caldwell. Alfred!--I like Alfred." "I like Beth. It's queer, but I like it all the better for that. It's like you." "Do you think me queer?" Beth asked, prepared to resent the imputation. "I think you uncommon," he replied. Beth reflected for a little. "What is your full name?" she asked finally. "Alfred Cayley Pounce," he replied. "My father gave me the name of Alfred that I might always remember I was _A_ Cayley Pounce. But my ambition is to be _The_ Cayley Pounce," he added with a nervous little laugh. Beth compressed her lips, and looked at the rising tide. The next wave broke at their feet, and both involuntarily stepped back. Behind them was the mass of earth that had fallen from the cliff. It had descended in a solid wedge without scattering. Alfred climbed on to it, and helped Beth up. "We shall be a little higher here, at all events," he said. Beth looked along the cliff; the high-water mark was still above their heads. "It's getting exciting, isn't it?" she observed. "But I don't feel nasty. Having you here makes--makes a difference, you know." "If you have to die with me, how shall you feel?" he asked. "I shall feel till my last gasp that I would much rather have lived with you," she answered emphatically. A wavelet splashed up against the clay on which they were standing. He turned to the cliff and tore at it in a sort of exasperation, trying to scoop out footholes with his hands by which they might climb up; but the effort was futile, the soft shale crumbled as he scooped, and there was no hold to be had on it. His face had grown grey in the last few minutes, and his eyes were strained and anxious. "I wonder how you feel," Beth said. "I think I resent the fate that threatens us more than I fear it. If my life must end now, it will be so unfinished."