Joe's heart felt as if it were in his
mouth, and he trembled with apprehension, dreading lest the rope should
come untwisted or the hemp give way, the result of either of these
accidents being that Gwyn must fall headlong on to the sea-washed rocks
below. Consequently, Joe's eyes were constantly turning from the
ascending figure to the rough pad over which the rope glided, and back
again, while his heart kept on beating with a slow, heavy throb which
was almost suffocating.

The distance to ascend was very short under the circumstances, but to
both boys, as they found when they afterwards compared notes, it seemed
to be interminable, and it is doubtful which of the two suffered the
more--Joe, as he gazed down with strained eyes and his vacant hands
longing to seize the rope, or Gwyn, as he hung with elbows squared,
fists clenched on the knot of the rope to ensure its remaining fast, and
his head thrown back and face gazing up at his comrade when he slowly
turned breast inward, at the sky when he turned back to the rocky wall.

So short a distance for Hardock to continue--his tramp less than two
hundred feet--and yet it seemed so great, for every nerve was on the
strain, and no one spoke a word.

It was in Joe's heart to keep on saying encouraging words to Gwyn, and
to utter warnings to Hardock, and advice as to going slow or fast, but
not a word would come. He could only stare down at the upturned face or
at the bare head to which the wet hair clung close.

But all the time Gwyn was steadily rising, and in a few seconds more Joe
felt that he would have to act--catching hold of his comrade by the rope
about his chest and helping him over the edge into safety.

"Will he never come?" groaned Joe, softly. "Oh, make haste, Hardock,
make haste."

He turned to look round once to see the strained rope and Hardock
bending forward like some animal drawing a load, and the rope looked so
thin that he shivered. Then, as it did not part, he felt a pang of
dread, for he felt that the risk for his comrade was doubled by the feet
that he was dependent upon two knots now instead of one, the slipping of
either meaning certain death.

The moisture in Joe's hands grew more dense, and the great drops
gathered upon his forehead, ran together and glided down his nose with a
horrible tickling sensation; and as he now gazed down once more at
Gwyn's hard, fixed, upturned face and straining eyes, his own grew dim
so that he could only