The rocks all about her lay scattered like gigantic ruins.  She stood upon a high boulder and peered around her.  There was certainly something awe-inspiring about the place, the bright sun notwithstanding.  It seemed to lie beneath a spell.  She wondered if she would come across any bits of wreckage, and suppressed a shudder.  The Gothic archway looked very dark and vault-like from where she stood.  Should she, after all, go any nearer?  Should she wait till Cinders would deign to accompany her?  The tide was undoubtedly rising.  In any case she would have to turn back within the next few minutes.

Slowly she pivoted round and looked again from the smiling horizon whereon no ship was visible to the Magic Cave that yawned in the face of the cliff.  The next instant she jumped so violently that she missed her footing and fell from her perch in sheer amazement.  Something—­someone—­was moving just within the deep shadow where the sunlight could not penetrate!

It was not a big drop, but she came to earth with a cry of pain among a mass of fallen stones, whereon she subsided, tightly clasping one foot between her hands.  She had stumbled upon wreckage to her cost; a piece of rusty iron at her side and the blood that ran out between her locked fingers testified to that.

“Oh, dear!  Oh, dear!” she wailed, rocking herself, and then glanced nervously over her shoulder, remembering the mysterious cause of the disaster.

The next moment swiftly she released the injured foot and sprang up.  A man, attired in white linen, had emerged from the Magic Cave.

He stood a second looking at her, then came bounding towards her over the rocks.

Chris shrank back against her boulder.  She was feeling dizzy and rather sick, and the apparition frightened her.

As he drew near she waved a desperate hand to stay his approach.  “Oh, please go away!” she cried in English.  “I—­I don’t want any help.  I’m only looking for crabs.”

He paid no attention whatever to her gesture or to her words.  Only, reaching her, he bowed very low, beginning with some formality, “Mais, mademoiselle; permettez-moi, je vous prie,” and ending in tones of quick compassion, “Ah, pauvre petite!  Pauvre petite!”

Before she knew his intention he was on his knees before her, and had taken the cut foot very gently into his hands.

Chris leaned back, clinging to the boulder.  The sunlight danced giddily in her eyes.  She felt as if she were slipping over the edge of the world.

“I can’t—­stand,” she faltered weakly.

“No, no, petite!  But naturally!” came the reassuring reply.  “Be seated, I beg.  Permit me to assist you!”

Chris, being quite incapable of doing otherwise, yielded herself to the gentle insistence of an arm that encircled her.  She had an impression—­fleeting at the time but returning to her later—­of friendly dark eyes that looked for an instant into hers; and then, exactly how it happened she knew not, she was sitting propped against the rock, while all the world swam dizzily around her, and someone with sure, steady hands wound a bandage tightly and ever more tightly around her wounded foot.