“Yes, I see something of the sort; but if you leave go, you may fall.”
“How?”
“By passing through. Now, I’ll pull you if I can. Make a struggle at once before you grow weaker.”
“Wait a bit. I’m not going to grow weaker. I mean to get stronger. Don’t you fidget. I’ll be up there in no time.”
Scarlett groaned in his nervous agony, and the great drops stood upon his brow. He had found hold for one foot by thrusting it in above a snake-like root which formed quite a loop in the broken-away soil, and now, reaching down, he thrust his hand within the collar of Fred’s jerkin, and held with all his force.
In those moments of excitement, he could not help thinking how often it was that the looker-on suffered far more than the one in peril, and he found himself marvelling at his companion’s coolness, suspended there as he was with the dreadful echoing abyss below him, that which had given forth so terrible a splash when the stones of the old arch gave way.
“Now then,” cried Fred, as he gazed in his companion’s ghastly face, “when I say ‘Now,’ you give a good tug, and I’ll shake myself clear in no time.”
“No, no; I dare not,” faltered Scarlett.
“What a coward! Well, then, let go, and let me do it myself.”
“No, no, Fred; pray take my advice. Don’t attempt to stir like that. Only try making one steady draw upward. As soon as you get free of those broken branches, which hold you so tightly, they’ll all fall with a splash below.”