“No: my duty is here, herr, and I must get you out. As soon as you can bear it I must try again.”
“But I can’t bear it. You can never get me out.”
“We shall see,” cried the guide cheerily. “Come: you are upset. Where is your what you English call pluck?”
This was said in a tone in which there seemed to be so much contempt, that Saxe gazed at the man resentfully, and seizing the cross-bar again he cried—
“Try again!”
The guide smiled as soon as he was not noticed, and then bending down once more the strain began again, and was carried on till Melchior himself gave in.
“We must rest once more, herr,” he said, as he removed his arms; and then, as Saxe made no sign, he looked down excitedly in the boy’s face, to see that his eyes were closed and that he was quite inanimate.
“Poor boy!” he said tenderly: “that sneer at his courage made him fight till he could do no more.”
The guide stood upright now, breathing hard as if to inhale fresh strength; and then gathering himself together, he bent down again.
“Better now, while he is insensible,” he muttered.