CHAPTER XII.
HOW NANCE CAME UP THE MAIN SHAFT WITHOUT GOING DOWN IT It was a few days after this that Gard had another proof of Nance's and Bernel's fearlessness and prowess in the waters they had conquered into friendliness.
Bernel was a great fisherman.

He could wheedle out rock-fish by the dozen while envious miners sat about him tugging hopefully at empty lines.
He had gone down one afternoon to the overhanging wooden slip at Port Gorey, and had excellent sport, until a sudden shift of the wind to the south-west began piling the waters into the gulf on an incoming tide.
Then he drew in his lines and sat dangling his legs for a few minutes, before gathering up his catch and going home.
Nance saw him from the other headland and came tripping round to see how he had fared.
"Bern," she cried, as she came up.

"Tell that man he's not safe down there.

The waves are bad there sometimes." "Hi, you!" cried Bernel, to a miner who had been watching his success and had then climbed down seaward over the furrowed black ledges, hoping to do better there.

"Come back! It's not safe there." But the fisherman, intent on his sport, either did not, or would not, hear him.
"Oh, well, if you won't," said Bernel.
And then, without warning, a wave greater than any that had gone before it, hurled itself up the rocks and came roaring over the black ledges into the bay, and the man was gone.
Nance and Bernel had straightened up instantly at the sound of its coming.
Their eyes swept the rocks, and caught a glimpse of the dark body tumbling with the cascade of foam into Port Gorey.
"Oh, Bern!" cried Nance, with up-clasped hands.
But Bernel, loosing his belt and kicking off his breeches with a glance at the derelict, launched himself clear of the pier with a shout.