Page 474 - sons-and-lovers

‘Never mind,’ she replied.
The red clay went down almost sheer. He slid, went from
one tuft of grass to the next, hanging on to the bushes, mak-
ing for a little platform at the foot of a tree. There he waited
for her, laughing with excitement. Her shoes were clogged
with red earth. It was hard for her. He frowned. At last he
caught her hand, and she stood beside him. The cliff rose
above them and fell away below. Her colour was up, her eyes
flashed. He looked at the big drop below them.
‘It’s risky,’ he said; ‘or messy, at any rate. Shall we go
back?’
‘Not for my sake,’ she said quickly.
‘All right. You see, I can’t help you; I should only hin-
der. Give me that little parcel and your gloves. Your poor
shoes!’
They stood perched on the face of the declivity, under
the trees.
‘Well, I’ll go again,’ he said.
Away he went, slipping, staggering, sliding to the next
tree, into which he fell with a slam that nearly shook the
breath out of him. She came after cautiously, hanging on to
the twigs and grasses. So they descended, stage by stage, to
the river’s brink. There, to his disgust, the flood had eaten
away the path, and the red decline ran straight into the wa-
ter. He dug in his heels and brought himself up violently.
The string of the parcel broke with a snap; the brown parcel
bounded down, leaped into the water, and sailed smoothly
away. He hung on to his tree.
‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ he cried crossly. Then he laughed.