The latent savagery of the chimpanzee and the fierce deep passion of the sportsman who had been "fouled" were aroused side by side in the breast of the young engineer. He sprang forward again and struck the falling man another furious blow; he seemed to yield easily; it was almost like striking the empty air. There was not that sense of springy resistance which is the whole source of pleasure in a blow well delivered and reaching well home.
With a sudden chilling of the blood he realized that the man was over the edge, falling downwards on to the trees. He felt sick with horror and tried to throw himself back, only to discover that the impetus of his own forward progress was too much for him. He slowed up and hung for (it seemed to him) many minutes just balanced, then gradually tilted forwards towards the tops of the trees that showed down below in the faint light of the rising dawn. He seemed to be moving very slowly—slowly, forwards. He glanced out over the valley below him and got a clear impression of the view; he saw an owl flit past between himself and the tree tops; he heard it hoot, its long drawn, melancholy hoot. Then he felt a sudden jerk behind, something pulled him backwards, he felt his centre of gravity shift till his legs had control of his body again. Then the blood rushed from his heart with a mighty bound; he sank down on the soft bed of the weather-browned pine needles.
"Good God!"
The girl leaned over him, her eyes alight. "I thought I was over too," she said.
"I thought that brute had killed you," he said.
She stretched herself and suddenly relaxed with a little gasp. "I'm all right. I've got a pain, that's all."
The horror of the whole situation was suddenly borne in upon him.
"Holy God!" he said. "That's man killed."
"I hope so," she said.
"Hush!" he said, "you mustn't say that. If he is, I'm a murderer."