till."

He makes as though he would help her in, but she shrinks back in terror,
then turns a wild stare upon him and upon the river, then sways,
staggers, and would fall but that he has caught her. She has swooned.

"Now, mister, now's your time," says the other man. "If you feel equal
to taking her across, now's the time to do it. Don't try to bring her
round. She'll go easier that way."

The idea is a good one. Roden, prompt to act, takes his seat in the
"box," which is drawn up upon the bank, and the post driver having now
come up, the two men raise the limp form of the unconscious woman, and
place it so that she lies, her head and back resting against him as
though they were tobogganing. In this attitude he has her under perfect
control, even should she regain consciousness during the transit.

"Ready!" he says. "Lower away now!"

Their shout having met with a response on the other side, the two
Kaffirs carefully launch the box, and, with a whirring, creaking
accompaniment of the pulleys, down it goes, to stop suddenly as it
reaches the utmost droop of the iron cord on which it runs. Then those
on the other side start hauling, and slowly and laboriously it ascends.
Still Roden's charge remains blissfully unconscious. Ten yards--five--
the bank is nearly reached--when--there is a snap, a jerk; and with a
suddenness and velocity which nearly overbalances it, away goes the
thing back again over the centre of the stream. The hauling line has
given way. The box with its human freight hangs helplessly over the
seething, roaring abyss.

The volley of curses attendant upon this mishap having subsided, those
on the further bank are heard in loud discussion as to what shall be
done next. The simplest plan will be to haul the box back again, but
Roden does not want this. Having embarked on the enterprise, he feels
an obligation to carry it through; and then as the situation strikes
him, he laughs queerly over the absurdity and unexpectedness of the
same. Here he is, swung in mid-air like a bale of goods in a crate,
hanging above a furious torrent, supporting the unconscious form of a
fair stranger, who leans against him as heavily as if she belonged to
him. Yes, the situation is ridiculous, and supremely uncomfortable; for
he is cramped and dead tired, and it is beginning to get dark.

"Heave a fresh line!" he shouts. "I'll catch it if you throw straight."

"All right, mister," answers the voice from t