Mark made no reply, for no words would come. Hope had sprung up at the possibility of escape, for life seemed then to be very sweet, but there was a bitterness to dull the bright thought, for the lad felt that it was the hated enemy of his house who was trying to help.
Then a dull feeling of apathy, as if he had been half stunned, came over him as he hung there in a terribly cramped position, with his face pressed against the wall.
And now, as if his hearing had become sharpened, the murmur of the rushing river came up quite loudly, and the wind seemed to be gathering force, while all this was, as it were, preparatory to his falling headlong down. Then he must have lost his senses for some little time, for the next thing he heard was a voice crying out, in tones full of despair,—
“Too short, too short, Ram!”
“Ay, so it be. Good ten foot.”
“Could I help him if you lowered me down?”
“Lower you down? Are you mad? I couldn’t hold you; and you’d break your neck.”
Mark heard every word now, for his senses had suddenly recovered their tone and something more.
Then what seemed to be another long space of time elapsed, and Ralph shouted to him,—
“This rope is too short, but there’ll be another here soon.”