"Carry on, ma'am, carry on." Then, a moment later, "Way enough!"
In a minute Mr. Amherst had caught at the crags and drawn the boat alongside, and Ben had sent his voice pealing up against the cliff in a volume of sound that was absolutely terrifying.
A few frightened sea-birds flew out of the crevices in the cliff and wheeled about their heads, but there was no other sound. Mrs. Beauchamp's eyes filled with agonized tears, but the sailor's cheeriness was infectious.
Again his voice went up into the night, as if he defied the poor defences of the dark.
"Susie!" cried Mrs. Beauchamp, in her thinner treble.
And this time there _was_ an answer--a cry small and faint; not at all like Susie's boisterous everyday voice, but human. Ben was out of the boat in a minute, scrambling from peak to peak, and shouting as he went.
Mrs. Beauchamp sat down with an uncertain movement, and covered her face with her hands; whilst Mr. Amherst, clinging to the rock for fear the ebbing tide should carry them out to sea, spoke to her with whimsical entreaty. "Mrs. Beauchamp, please don't faint until Nelson comes back! Pull yourself together--he _expects_ us to do our duty; and, besides, you will frighten the children."
The last suggestion had an instantaneous effect. From that calm region where love and despair were alike forgotten she came back with a conscious effort to the unsteady boat, and Mr. Amherst's alarmed eyes, and the lapping water against the bow.
"That's right," said Mr. Amherst, with great relief in his voice. "I really didn't know how to get to you. Listen!"
"Safe!" The great voice came pealing down the cliff, waking the echoes on the shore, and with a sort of incredulous joy Mrs. Beauchamp listened to the sturdy steps coming slowly, surely, carefully down, with a little ripple of shale following them.
She clutched at the gunwale of the boat until she hurt her hands, and strained her eyes for the sight she longed to see. First there came the stalwart figure of the sailor with a bundle in his arms, and behind him a slim, bare-footed, bareheaded, stumbling little creature, who almost fell into the expectant arms waiting for her.
"He's quite warm, mother." It was Susie's voice, faint, eager, appealing, caught by deep sobs. "He has never coughed once--he has never _moved_. He is quite warm; feel him."