“Does our Sof remind you of your Swiss mountains?”
“Not exactly; our Alps are higher and more majestic, but we seldom enjoy such pure air and sunshine——”
He was interrupted by a terrible cry, followed by the sound of something falling.
“There has been an accident!” said he to his companion, and they both ran toward the rocks. There they found Dikran, Aram, and three other boys, all pale and trembling.
“What is the matter?” asked Mihran hodja.
In reply, Dikran beckoned to them to come nearer, and pointed straight down. There was his cousin, suspended over the chasm, and clinging to a small tree. The boys gave a cry of horror.
Poor Nejib had slipped as he was gathering anemones, and had fallen between two walls of rock. His fall had been broken by a narrow ledge covered with thick grass; a few meters lower, he had caught hold of a young pine, but the frail tree might give way at any moment, and then the unfortunate boy must roll down to the turbulent stream below. With neither rope nor ladder, it seemed impossible to save him; yet he could not be left to perish like that. There was perplexity on every face.
At last Archag went up to Monsieur Bernier and said:
“He must have been hurt as he fell; I hear him groaning. I am going to try to get down to him.”
“You will certainly be killed in the attempt.”