The light was stronger now, and she could see Mrs. Walford lying on a sort of trellis-work platform, but though she called loudly to her there was no response that she could hear. Either the poor woman had fainted from fright, or else the wind carried the sound of her voice away.
Down, down, down went Bertha, her head clear and her courage steady now; for the danger was so great that in some strange way it had taken away her fear.
“I wonder however I shall get her to climb up here,” she said to herself, as she paused, breathless, to get a little rest before going lower. There was only one more section now between her and Mrs. Walford; but her hands and arms were aching so much from the continual strain, that she was forced to wait a few minutes before finishing her perilous journey.
At last she had reached the spot where Mrs. Walford lay.
Then, as she stooped and laid her hand on the huddled figure, a dreadful fear assailed her, lest the poor woman had died from the shock of her fall.
“Mrs. Walford, are you hurt?” she cried anxiously.
Mrs. Walford gave a great start and looked up, then gasped in amazement, as if unable to believe the evidence of her eyes. “Miss Doyne, is it really you?”
“Yes, yes, and I have come to help you climb back again. You would never have fallen, if it had not been for my cowardice in being afraid to shut the door. I am so very, very sorry,” said Bertha, with a sob coming up in her throat.
“You need not be; for you could not help the wind catching me in that fashion. Oh, the wonder is that I was saved from an awful death! It was a simply miraculous escape!” exclaimed Mrs. Walford, as she scrambled to a sitting position and, woman-like, began to arrange her disordered hair.
“Are you hurt?” asked Bertha, greatly relieved to find that her companion could sit up; but hardly able to believe even yet that there was no serious damage.