CHAPTER XVII. FOR LIFE AND LOVE.
The cry that came up out of the darkness, and stayed Flora Meredith in the very act of self murder, was uttered by one who had been miraculously saved from an awful death.
For some minutes Flora continued to strain her eyes before she could make anything out. Then she became conscious that the figure of a woman was lying on a verandah about fifteen feet below, and which projected considerably beyond the lines of the upper one on which Flora stood. That it was one of the women who had rolled over, Miss Meredith had no doubt; but which one was a question difficult to answer. But presently the cry was repeated. Flora fancied she detected Mehal’s voice, but could not be certain. Everything was quiet below in the grounds, for the hour was late, and nobody was about. She bent over the verandah as far as possible, and, in a low tone, called—
“Mehal—Zeemit—Zeemit.”
She waited with palpitating heart for any reply, for on that reply it might truly be said her life hung. But the reply did not come—only a half-stifled moan telling of acute suffering.
Again she called—a little louder, this time; again she waited in expectancy, to be disappointed once more. She rose to her feet, and considered what was best to be done. There was little time to lose, little time for thought.
Hope rose again. If she could manage to reach the lower balcony, she might be saved. But how was that to be accomplished? Even if she had been in possession of a rope, she doubted her ability either to make it fast, or, having succeeded in that, to lower herself down; for easy as such a thing seems to the uninitiated, it is practically a task fraught with the utmost danger, and requiring an exertion of physical strength severe for a man, and ten times more so for a woman. But though she had possessed the acrobatic skill to have performed the feat, the rope was not there, nor was there anything in the room that would have answered as a substitute. What, then, was to be done?
She stood irresolute, almost distracted by the painful tensity to which her mental powers were stretched. But as she stood, hovering, as it were, between life and death, the rustling creepers whispered to her—
“Here is a way down.”
As the idea flashed upon her, she could have cried out with joy.