“Right! Hauley hoi!” came back, and with one effort Gwyn curved his body, forcing his breast clear of the edge, joined his strength to that of his comrade in the effort to rise, and the next moment Joe was on his back with Gwyn being dragged over him.
Then came an interval of inaction, for the three actors in the perilous scene lay prone upon the rough surface of the cliff, Hardock having thrown himself upon his face.
“Oh, Gwyn, old chap!—oh, Gwyn,” groaned Joe.
“Hah! Yes; it was near,” sighed the rescued boy, as he slowly rose to a sitting posture, and began to unfasten the rope. “I thought I was gone.”
“It was horrid—horrid—horrid!” groaned Joe. “And I couldn’t do anything.”
He rose slowly, wiping his brow, which was dripping with perspiration, and the two boys sat there in the sunshine gazing at one another for a few minutes as if quite unconscious of the presence of Hardock at the end of the rope, where he lay spread-eagled among the heath.
Then Gwyn slowly held out his hand, which was gripped excitedly by Joe, who seized it with a loud sob.
“Thank ye, Jolly-wet,” said Gwyn, quietly. “I felt so queer seeing you try so hard.”
“You felt—about me? Ah, you don’t know what I felt about you. Ugh! I could kick you! Frightening me twice over like that! I don’t know which was worst—when you went down or when you came up.”
“Going down was worst,” said Gwyn, quietly. “But have a kick if you like; I don’t feel as if I could hit back.”