"By Jove, Phil," he remarked in his usual nonchalant manner, "that was rather a narrow shave! Fortunate I happened to be there!"
Errington gazed about him confusedly. "Where's Sigurd?" he asked.
"Gone! Ran off like a 'leapin' goat,' as Sandy elegantly describes him. I thought at first he meant to jump over the Fall, in which case I should have been compelled to let him have his own way, as my hands were full. But he's taken a safe landward direction."
"Didn't he try to push me over?"
"Exactly! He was quite convinced that the mermaids wanted you. But I considered that Miss Thelma's wishes had a prior claim on my regard."
"Look here, old man," said Errington suddenly, "don't jest about it! You saved my life!"
"Well!" and Lorimer laughed. "Quite by accident, I assure you."
"Not by accident!" and Philip flushed up, looking very handsome and earnest. "I believe you followed us up here thinking something might happen. Now didn't you?"
"Suppose I did," began Lorimer, but he was interrupted by his friend, who seized his hand, and pressed it with a warm, close, affectionate fervor. Their eyes met--and Lorimer blushed as though he had performed some action meriting blame rather than gratitude. "That'll do, old fellow," he said almost nervously. "As we say in polite society when some one crushes our favorite corn under his heel--don't mention it! You see Sigurd is cracked,--there's not the slightest doubt about that,--and he's hardly accountable for his vagaries. Then I know something about him that perhaps you don't. He loves your Thelma!"
They were making the descent of the rocks together, and Errington stopped short in surprise.
"Loves Thelma! You mean as a brother--"
"Oh no, I don't! I mean that he loves her as brothers often love other people's sisters--his affection is by no means fraternal--if it were only that--"
"I see!" and Philip's eyes filled with a look of grave compassion. "Poor fellow! I understand his hatred of me now. Good Heavens! how he must suffer! I forgive him with all my heart. But--I say, Thelma has no idea of this!"
"Of course not. And you'd better not tell her. What's the good of making her unhappy?"
"But how did you learn it?" inquired Philip, with a look of some curiosity at his friend.
"Oh, I!" and Lorimer laughed carelessly; "I was always an observing sort of fellow--fond of putting two and two together and making four of them, when I wasn't too exhausted and the weather wasn't too hot for the process. Sigurd's rather attached to me--indulges me with some specially private ravings now and then--I soon found out his secret, though I believe the poor little chap doesn't understand his own feelings himself."