Though half of his soul fought against the other half, trying to loose his arms, it was in vain; sophistry was swept aside, and he felt that he must do his utmost, even though it might be useless. He would go to join Jenson, and he must go soon, lest his strength fail.
Feeling about with his feet, he found the last inch of rock that would hold him up, and slowly bent downward. Twice he had to shift his position laboriously because of the wall behind him; once again he tottered, his foot slipped, and only a desperate effort recovered him.
After he had laid the girl across that ledge he could never get upright again without standing on her body—and, harmless though that might have been to her, it never came into his head.
He lowered her to his knees, twisting about, and inch by inch bent downward until she lay across his feet and ankles in safety. Only his grip on her body held him on the ledge now, and the physical torture of his position sent the sweat running down his face in streams.
His will-power all but failed him in that last instant. With infinite pains he drew one foot free, then the other, and went to his knees. But they slipped on the slant of broken rock-face—and, bending swiftly, he touched his lips to hers as he went down.
He seemed to fall for miles and miles through space. From somewhere above came a dull report, and a second; then a shock, and he landed feet first on something soft, and felt great shapes twining around him. He screamed—and fell asleep.
CHAPTER XVIII
"THAHABU!"
"I did, miss."
Who did what? Dull mutters and echoings pierced into Hammer's brain, as if voices that he used to know were whispering in the distance. They swelled and died away and swelled again, reminding him vaguely of the bells he had heard one evening in Venice.