[CHAPTER XXI]
A Superb Rescue
IT took Doris twice as long to mount as it had taken Pressford; and each moment of the time was to her—but tenfold more to Maurice —an age in itself. She was in a state of acute nervous strain. One object only lay before her mind,—the next step, the next handhold. Other thoughts died out, or were entirely subordinate. Her powers of climbing, under the present exigency, were increased to a remarkable degree. Maurice marvelled, as he watched and feared.
At last she was nearly on a level with Pressford!
She could see now that he hung against a face of smooth rock, beyond the couloir which she was mounting; and that between him and death lay nothing but the upholding rope. But, as she had half made out from below, a ledge of rock, just wide enough for safety, gave access from the gully to a spot nearly below him. Once upon that ledge, she would be able to secure Pressford, and so to free Maurice. Her spirit bounded at the thought.
More work had to be done first. To quit the couloir and reach the ledge meant two or three dizzy steps. But' courage rose high, and fear was gone. All recollection of self was swallowed up in the joy of success. Perhaps her chief danger at this point lay in the direction of overconfidence; and Maurice's warning voice—"Steady, don't hurry!"— came at the right moment.
Three critical steps were managed without a shudder. She gained the ledge, passed to its farther end, measured Pressford's distance with a glance, and called—"It's all right! I'm here!"
That crossing from the gully had taken her beyond the range of Maurice's vision; and the pause before her glad cry reached him meant another short-long agony of suspense. Then he knew; and the relief was unspeakable. For one moment his brain swam; and—"Thank God!"—was all he could utter.
"I'm on the ledge all right," she cried again.
Maurice spoke clearly. "Can you reach him? I can only loosen a foot of rope, without letting go."