They clambered down the red cliffs towards the boulders where the sea-waves were crashing. Dora had discarded her buttoned boots and white stockings at the house, so as not to ruin them, but her soles were white and tender and she had never done much scrambling in her life. For all her primness, though, she was no sissy, moreover, she was determined to play on the shore, and her will amounted to wonders, as quiet people's often do. She chose her footing carefully, selecting rocks that could bear her weight. She was not really scared. She couldn't be when she was with Paul. And when they at last scrambled onto a large, striped rock, Paul held out his hand for her and she fell into his half-hug with a great thrill. Her heart was pounding, and it was not from fear.
Oh, it was nice, to sit here with the salt-spray on her cheeks and the sun on her bare feet, and Paul just beside her!
Presently Paul sprang to his feet, his face transfigured. He raised his hand in a sailor's salute.
"They're here!" he cried.
"The Twin Sailors - there they are, drifting towards us in a ship with a sail made of moonshine. I think that's the youngest twin waving at us - oh, Dora, Dora, won't you wave back? The youngest twin is nice, and you needn't be scared of him, not like the older one."
"Who? Where?"
"There, Dora! There in the glinting trail of sunlight. Look how the white sails gleam. The inside is all gleaming, too, yes, pearly and rainbowy like the inside of a mussel shell. I've been in it once. You could go to the ends of the world in it."
"And where's that?" Dora asked. She wasn't sure what Paul meant.
"Oh - " Paul looked deflated for a moment "well, the oldest twin's taken me into the heart of the sunset once."
"Oh Paul, but nobody can go into the sunset. It just fades when you walk towards it. I've tried. Only I didn't try for very hard, I suppose, because it got darker and darker and I was afraid of getting lost in the Haunted Wood. Maybe it's easier on water..." Dora was dubious.
Paul picked up a flat piece of rock and tossed it at the waves. It skipped.
"Oh, Dora," he sighed. "You're just not that kind who can see them. This all isn't really true, you know. It's only my imagination."
The immense disappointment in his voice made Dora want to cry. She felt that she had failed him in some occult way. She didn't really understand what he was talking about, but she felt deficient, as if her true self had come to light and she was found wanting.
"I-magination?" she queried. "Anne's got one. So is she that kind? D'you mean - can she see your ship and sailors?" A fresh wave of jealousy and pain blanched her.
"Yes- and no." Paul meditated. "I don't think she could see my rock people. I think I'm the only one who can see them."
They slipped off the striped walks and waded to a pebbled beach around the headland. The sea-breezes caressed Dora's hair and cheeks, but the delight she felt earlier that afternoon had left her. The beauty of the tall sandstone cliffs, and the white, gleaming beach was lost on her, but apparently Paul was alive to it. He held out his hand to her and whirled her about on the sand, quoting
"COME unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd,—
The wild waves whist,—
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear."
Dora had a feeling this afternoon should've been the loveliest thing that happened to her, but she was still riddled with self-torture. Paul was telling her about the lovely lady who frequented this cove, with long black hair and dark eyes, who knew all the secrets of the sea. Dora hadn't any idea what he meant, and it made her feel incredibly stupid.
Further on there was a great sea-cave that Paul wanted to show her. "I think we'll reach it before the tide turns, if we hurry." He took her hand again and they scrambled over the rocks. They arrived at a sea-cave with a small entrance. Water lapped furtively on its bank. Long streaks of seaweed dangled over its mouth, and Dora thought that it must be very dark inside. She shuddered, and slipped her hand out of Paul's. She turned around and stared numbly into the sun on the horizon.
"What's the matter?" Paul asked. "You aren't scared, are you?"
"Who are you going to see in that cave?" she asked warily.
"The Golden Lady lives in here, with a golden harp on which she plays the songs of the sea. You will hear her music even if you can't see her. And you will see something wonderful of your own in here, Dora, you really will."
He made her close her eyes and drew her into the cave, carefully steering her. Dora was torn between terror and a blind trust in Paul. She felt the slime of the seaweeds on her face, the cold, damp stone, something skidding past her toes, but she did not open her eyes. Then Paul pushed her down onto a bench of stone.
"You can look now."
Dora had never seen or imagined anything like this. Light bounced off the walls of the cave in every direction, leaving long, prismatic rays in the air. It was impossible to tell where the light came from, for there it was to her right and left, as she looked up into the dome of the cave and into the corner recesses, weaving wonderful and mysterious patterns in the dimness. Dora gasped in sheer delight, and then she heard it: a sibilant humming, like that of the waves lapping on the shore, surrounded her. It resounded off the walls of the cave and filled her with awe.
"Shhh. Can't you hear it?"
Paul nodded. "It's what I imagine is the Golden Lady at her harp."
Dora nodded, too. She could stay here and listen forever. Maybe she was begining to see what Paul meant after all.
"Paul," she asked timidly. "Do you still like me?"
" 'Course I like you, Dora. I haven't any other friend who listens so well as you. You're a kindred spirit, like Teacher would say."
"Even if I'm not that kind?"
"It isn't your fault you haven't any imagination, Dora Keith."
Dora pondered on that. She didn't seem completely satisfied.
"I think I should like to have an imagination." she declared.
Paul studied the light in the cave, the Golden Lady of his imagination, and the little golden damsel beside him with her warm hand in his. "I think," he said solemnly, "that we must cultivate your imagination."
Dora didn't quite know what that meant but she liked the sounds of that so much better.
They lingered in the Golden Lady's cave for so long that the tide had begun to come in. Dora was the one who first noticed the waning gleams of light, and the trail of water on the floor. She woke Paul from his reverie.
"We have to get out now!" he cried with real panic in his voice.
The hurried out of the cave and waded across the beach. The water had nearly risen above the rocks on the headland.
"We - can't - get - pass." Paul waved her back, trying to steady his voice. He must not be frightened for Dora's sake. But it was no better being trapped on Andrew's Cove. The hem of Dora's dress was already damp; he had heard Young Mary Joe say that girls could get sick that way. His flailed about desperately for an escape route.
"Dora, do you think you could reach that ledge?" He scrambled up on an toppling rock and aimed for a shelf that jutted out of the sea wall. He pulled Dora up with him. From there they found a steep, slippery path that came out on the Shore Road.
"My, that was an adventure." Dora said calmly.
"Yes," Paul panted, squatting down on the side of the now dark road. "And we're miles away from home and grandmother will be so angry, and I could've gotten you drowned."
"Well, you didn't. You saved my life." Dora remarked still more complacently. How could Paul guess that she was not at all frightened because she was with him!
"Look, Dora," he said frustratedly. "I don't know where we are at all. We must be miles and miles down the shore road 'cause I don't recognize this part. I don't know how we'll get home. We'll have to walk, but it could be hours and it's so dark."
"Well, we're together. I don't think I really mind, Paul."
Paul sighed again. But was he sighing to counter her eternal cheerfulness, or because it was a terrible responsibility to have such implicit trust placed in him? He was very tired from their long adventure, and at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be delivered into safety.
Not all wishes are granted, but Paul's was.
"Paul, there's someone coming down the road." Dora confided. Paul remembered that she was shy around strangers.
"We'll have to shout at them- they mightn't see us. Shout your loudest."
They shouted themselves hoarse, and a buggy screeched to a stop inches from their feet. Someone shone a light at them. It was Gilbert Blythe!
"Dora Keith and Paul Irving! What in heavens name are you doing out here, all in the dark?" he exclaimed.
"We were at Andrews' cove and we got caught by the tide." Dora babbled. "And Paul found a way up through the rocks and spruce barrens, and he saved our lives, but not we're miles off and we might never get to Green Gables if you hadn't come along."
Paul was impressed by this long string of words Dora had put together.
"You'll take her back to Green Gables, won't you, Gilbert?" Paul asked anxiously. While they were explaining, Gilbert had already whisked them into the buggy and tucked them under a wool blanket against the chilly evening air: that was one of the nice things about Gilbert Blythe, he thought of everything you needed and did it for you without asking.
"I'm taking you both home ask fast as Silverspot'll go. I was just on my way back after a school meeting - I'm boarding at home until the roads get so bad that I can't drive to White Sands, you see. Dora Keith, did you come all the way from Green Gables barefoot?"
"No'm, my shoes are at Paul's Grandmothers."
"Alright, then we're going there and getting Mary Joe to give you a hot supper, and then I'll drive you home. We can send Pacifique to tell Marilla you'll be home soon."
Gilbert lingered in the Green Gables kitchen to tell Anne all about Dora's misadventures after he had put Dora to bed, at Dora's insistence.
"To think she wasn't a bit frightened to be on the shore all on their own, the poor darling!" Anne was genuinely surprised. "I hope Davy will see how gallantly Paul saved his sister and behave as a gentleman should towards him, from now on."
"I don't think Paul was any braver than Dora. She has as much credit for getting them out of the scrape as he does." Gilbert said matter-of-factly.
"Oh," Anne's shining eyes turned on his. "You don't understand. Any girl would be thrilled to be rescued from a watery grave by a gallant knight. Dora's heart will be indebted to Paul forever. I just know. Of course, Avonlea men sometimes have too little imagination to think of such things." she added scornfully.
"Sometimes," Gilbert told her with an amused twinkle - for he remembered how Anne had floated own The Lake of Shining Waters in a leaking dory, and how she lived to tell the tale, "I think your imagination limits people."
Gilbert had a point. But with regards to the susceptibility of maiden hearts, Anne was right.