"Ah!" she said, "that reminds me. You do not practice what you preach. I found your pistol lying on the stone in the cave. That is one reason why I followed you."
It was quite true. He laid the weapon aside when delving at the rock, and forgot to replace it in his belt.
"It was stupid of me," he admitted; "but I am not sorry."
"Why?"
"Because, as it is, I owe you my life."
"You owe me nothing," she snapped. "It is very thoughtless of you to run such risks. What will become of me if anything happens to you? My point of view is purely selfish, you see."
"Quite so. Purely selfish." He smiled sadly. "Selfish people of your type are somewhat rare, Miss Deane."
Not a conversation worth noting, perhaps, save in so far as it is typical of the trite utterances of people striving to recover from some tremendous ordeal. Epigrams delivered at the foot of the scaffold have always been carefully prepared beforehand.
The bandage was ready; one end was well soaked in brandy. She moved towards the cave, but he cried—
"Wait one minute. I want to get a couple of crowbars."