Ashton ran back to fetch the rope and a dozen blazing sticks. Driftwood was strewn all around. In a minute he had a fire started against the butt end of the log. He began to gather a pile of fuel. But Blake checked him with a cheerful––“That’s enough, old man. I can manage now. Take the rope, and go.”
When Ashton had coiled the rope over his shoulder and under the opposite arm, he came and stood before his prostrate companion. His face was scarlet with shame. 338
“I have been a fool––and worse,” he said. “I doubted her. I am utterly unfit to live. If I were alone down here, I would stay and rot. But you are her brother. If it is possible to get up there, I am going up.”
“You are going up!” encouraged Blake. “You will make it. Give my love to them. Tell them I’m doing fine.”
He held out his hand.
“No,” said Ashton. “I’d give anything if I could grip hands with you. But I cannot. You are her brother. I am unfit to touch your hand.”
He turned and ran up the precipice-foot to the first steep ascent of the steeple-sloped break in the wall of the abyss.