"No," he said at last; "that would be a coward's end. I've done one brave thing to-day; and now, old friend, you shall have me again to toss upon your waves, but it shall be as your master, not as a slave." As he spoke he raised his hands and stretched them out, when he heard a hoarse cry behind him, and as he sharply turned and stepped back, something seemed to come out of the darkness, seize him by the throat, and the next moment he was over the cliff, suspended above eternity. Then there was an awful silence, only broken by the roar, thud, and hiss of the waves below, as they rushed in, broke upon the rocks, and then fled back in foamy spray. Richard's fingers were dug into the short, velvet turf, and he hung there, with his legs rigid, afraid to move, and wondering whether those were friendly or inimical hands that clutched his throat. It seemed an age of horror before the silence was broken, and then came a panting voice, which he knew as Humphrey's, to sob, as it were, in his ear-- "Master Dick, don't be scar'd. I've got you tight, but I can't move. Get your nerve, and then shift your hands one at a time to me." Without a moment's hesitation, Richard did so, with the damp gathering on his brow the while. "That's brave, sir. Now get your toes in the cracks of the granite somewhere--gently, don't hurry--I won't let go, though I can't move." Richard obeyed, drew himself up an inch, then another, and another, felt that he was saved--then made a slip, and all seemed over, but Humphrey held to him with all his strength, and once more Richard tried, tearing hands and knees with the exertion, till he got his chest above the cliff edge, then was halfway up, and crawled safely on, to fall over panting on his side. "Quick, Master Richard, your hand!" shouted Humphrey. And the saved had to turn saver, for the keeper had been drawn closer and closer to the edge by Richard's efforts, and but for a sudden snatch, and the exercise of all his strength, the new owner of Penreife would have glided off the slippery grass into the darkness beneath. "Safe," muttered Humphrey, rising. "Give me your hand, Master Richard. I thought, when I followed you, you meant to leap off." "No, Humphrey," said Richard, sadly, "I will not throw my worthless life away. It is such glimpses of death as that we have just seen that teach the value of life. Goodnight; don't speak to me again." Humphrey obeyed, and followed him in silence to the house. The next morning, as soon as the letters had been brought in, Richard took his--a single one--and, without a word to a soul, carried a small portmanteau to the stable-yard, waited while the horse was put to, and then had himself driven off. As he passed the lodge a note was put into his hand by a boy. An hour later he was in the train, and the destination of that train was the big metropolis, where most men come who mean to begin afresh. Volume 3, Chapter II. CORRESPONDENCE.