es, he moved slowly, and when near
the middle stopped. She saw him clench his hands as he tried to brace
himself.

"Go on, Lawrence," she said, as quietly as she could.

He moved another pace or two uncertainly, and then stopped again, and
Lucy struggled with her terror as she tried to think. If he were well,
it would not be difficult to turn and come back, or sit upon the log,
but either would be dangerous if his nerve had gone. She had failed to
rouse him and durst not try again. If he slipped or stumbled, he would
plunge into the canon. It was horrible to reflect that she had allowed
him to make the venture. Then, throwing off the numbing fear, she
sprang to her feet.

"Stand quite still; I'm coming to help you," she said in a strained
voice and went towards the log.

Next moment she was seized from behind, and Walters ran past. She
struggled fiercely, biting her lips as she stopped the scream that
might startle her lover, and heard the man who held her breathing hard.
But he held her firmly and she stopped struggling, with a paralyzing
horror that made her muscles limp. Still, she could see and think, and
the scene fixed itself upon her brain like a photograph; long
afterwards she could remember each minute detail.

The log occupied the foreground of the picture, running boldly across
the gap in the pines, with a shadowy gulf beneath. Near the middle,
Lawrence stood slackly, with his back to her, and behind him Walters
walked across the trunk. His step was firm and agile, his figure
well-proportioned and athletic, and it was somehow obvious that he
relished the opportunity of showing his powers. Afterwards, she hated
him for his vanity.

It was plain that little physical help could be given. All that was
possible was moral support; a firm, guiding grasp that would restore
the shaken man's confidence, and the comfort of feeling there was
somebody near who was not afraid. But a very slight push the wrong
way, or even an unsteadiness in the hand that should have guided, might
be fatal. Lawrence was at the mercy of a man who had plotted to
destroy him and could do so now without risk. Lucy could not warn him,
because if he were startled, he would fall. Waiting in an agony of
suspense, she saw Walters grasp his shoulder.

"Steady, partner; we'll soon be across," he said in a quiet, reassuring
voice, and Lawrence's slack pose stiffened, as if he had gathered
confidence.

Lucy thought he did not