There was no reply. The sage chuckled aloud.
“The exercise of reason teaches me,” he explained in a voluminous whisper, “that our dear young friend is not drowned—oh, no! As a matter of fact, at this moment, he has already got clear of the water, and doesn’t know where he is, but is happier than he ever was before in his life. When he awakes from the trance, he will address us.”
So, in truth, it came to pass. Presently, the call came from Saxe, and the progress of the three across the cavern was safely accomplished. Arrived, they pressed about the girl, who was standing, supported by her lover’s arm, and mightily embarrassed by the fervor of their gratitude for the boon of life bestowed on them by her intrepidity and resource. Finally, the five set forth along the ledge, following it as Margaret had come, by groping on the sheer wall from which it jutted. And, now, the girl no longer went with painful slowness on hands and knees, but walked bravely, upheld by the lover at her side. So, at last, they came to the spot where Margaret’s fall had ended. To their left, seemingly a great way off, and high above them, showed the pallid gleam from the bend of the chimney—blessed harbinger of God’s light above.
Billy Walker surveyed the dim vista of ascent with extreme disfavor.
“Jake must bring ladders,” he declared. “Luckily, he’s to fetch along help—a whole crew for the rescue work. Oh, yes, I’ll wait—I don’t mind waiting. The water was warm, and the cavern’s warm, and, anyhow, wet clothes don’t bother—if one doesn’t think of them. But I wish I had a dry cigar and a match.”
Roy thrust himself forward resolutely.
“Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “I’ll climb up in a jiffy.” He had pulled off his shoes before starting for the first swim with David across the chamber, and now stood up in his stockinged feet. “I’m fond of cliff-climbing. The only trouble with this is, it’ll prove too easy.” Without more ado, he scrambled upward through the darkness. The others waited anxiously, and breathed a sigh of relief when they saw his form at last silhouetted against the pale light at the bend. His voice came to them muffled.
“The rest will be quicker, I can see, now.” Forthwith, he vanished.
It was May on the solid earth above who heard him, and the happiness of it made her almost fainting. But she held herself sternly, and even managed a quavering call of his name—for which, when he heard, Roy climbed the faster, and soon these two were in each other’s arms, glad beyond measure of gladness. The girl was in terror over the blood-stained bandage about her lover’s head, and cried when she learned of the treacherous shot that had wounded him. She cried again, with content, that it had been no worse. Most of all, she cried for the exquisite bliss of his being alive and holding her in his arms—ruining the daintiest of summer frocks with his sodden, rock-stained clothes.