“Oh, Jim Airth,” cried Myra, “go without me! I have not a steady head. I cannot climb.”
He put his hands upon her shoulders, and looked full into her eyes.
“You can climb,” he said. “You must climb. You shall climb. We must climb—or drown. And, remember: if you fall, I fall too. You will not be saving me, by letting yourself go.”
She looked up into his eyes, despairingly. They blazed into hers from beneath his bent brows. She felt the tremendous mastery of his will. Her own gave one final struggle.
“I have nothing to live for, Jim Airth,” she said. “I am alone in the world.”
“So am I,” he cried. “I have been worse than alone, for a half score of years. But there is life to live for. Would you throw away the highest of all gifts? I want to live—Good God! I must live; and so must you. We live or die together.”
He loosed her shoulders and took her by the wrists. He lifted her trembling hands, and held them against his breast.
For a moment they stood so, in absolute silence.
Then Myra felt herself completely dominated. All fear slipped from her; but the assurance which took its place was his courage, not hers; and she knew it. Lifting her head, she smiled at him, with white lips.
“I shall not fall,” she said.