an could not help her. He looked up at the cliff. "What
were you doing up there?" he asked.

"What were you doing down there?" she rejoined.

"I followed you," he answered simply. "I saw you come this way, then I
lost sight of you; but I thought you would be somewhere on the sands,
because the cliffs are private property."

"The owner is an uncle of mine," said Beth. "I come when I like."

Then they looked into each other's faces shyly, and looked away again,
smiling but confused.

"Why did you follow me?" said Beth. "You did not know me."

"No, but I wanted to," he answered readily. "Where were you?"

"Lying on a shelf where that scar is now, looking down on you."

"Then you saw me model that figure?"

"And the cliff fell," Beth put in irrelevantly to cover a blush. "It
often falls. We're always having landslips here. And I think we'd
better move away from it now," she added, rising. "People are killed
sometimes."

"But tell me," he said, detaining her. "Didn't you know I was
following you?"

Beth became embarrassed.

"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