Sir Arthur acquiesced willingly, and the two left the high road, and soon attained the side of the ocean.  The tide was by no means so far out as they had computed; but this gave them no alarm; there was seldom ten days in the year when it approached so near the cliffs as not to leave a dry passage.

As they advanced together in silence a sudden change of weather made Miss Wardour draw close to her father.  As the sun sank the wind rose, and the mass of waters began to lift itself in larger ridges, and sink in deeper furrows.  Presently, through the drizzling rain, they saw a figure coming towards them, whom Sir Arthur recognised as the old blue-gowned beggar, Edie Ochiltree.

“Turn back!  Turn back!” exclaimed the vagrant.  “The tide is running on Halket-head, like the Fall of Fyers!  We will maybe get back by Ness Point yet.  The Lord help us—­it’s our only chance!  We can but try.”

The waves had now encroached so much upon the beach, that the firm and smooth footing which they had hitherto had on the sand must be exchanged for a rougher path close to the foot of the precipice, and in some places even raised upon its lower ledges.  It would have been utterly impossible for Sir Arthur Wardour or his daughter to have found their way along these shelves without the guidance and encouragement of the beggar, who had been there before in high tides, though never, he acknowledged, “in sae awsome a night as this.”

It was indeed a dreadful evening.  The howling of the storm mingled with the shrieks of the sea-fowl.  Each minute the raging tide gained ground perceptibly.  The three still struggled forward; but at length they paused upon the highest ledge of rock to which they could attain, for it seemed that any farther attempt to advance could only serve to anticipate their fate.

The fearful pause gave Isabella Wardour time to collect the powers of a mind naturally strong and courageous.

“Must we yield life,” she said, “without a struggle?  Is there no path, however dreadful, by which we could climb the crag?”

“I was a bold cragsman,” said Ochiltree, “once in my life; but it’s lang syne, and nae mortal could speel them without a rope.  But there was a path here ance—­His name be praised!” he ejaculated suddenly, “there’s ane coming down the crag e’en now! there’s ane coming down the crag e’en now!” Then, exalting his voice, he halloo’d out to the daring adventurer such instructions as his former practice forced upon his mind.

The adventurer, following the directions of old Edie, flung him down the end of the rope, which he secured around Miss Wardour.  Then, availing himself of the rope, which was made fast at the other end, Ochiltree began to ascent the face of the crag, and after one or two perilous escapes, was safe on the broad flat stone beside our friend Lovel.  Their joint strength was able to raise Isabella to the place of safety which they had attained, and the next thing was to raise Sir Arthur beyond the reach of the billows.