iences. He
would go with him to the dramatic entertainment; from his example and
wisdom, Ruth should learn how easily temptation might be overcome. But,
first of all, there should be the fullest exchange of confidences
and explanations. The old rule should be rescinded for once, the old
discussion in regard to Mornie re-opened, and Rand, having convinced his
brother of error, would generously extend his forgiveness.

The sun sank redly. Lingering long upon the ledge before their cabin, it
at last slipped away almost imperceptibly, leaving Rand still wrapped in
revery. Darkness, the smoke of distant fires in the woods, and the faint
evening incense of the pines, crept slowly up; but Ruth came not. The
moon rose, a silver gleam on the farther ridge; and Rand, becoming
uneasy at his brother's prolonged absence, resolved to break another
custom, and leave the summit, to seek him on the trail. He buckled on
his revolvers, seized his gun, when a cry from the depths arrested him.
He leaned over the ledge, and listened. Again the cry arose, and this
time more distinctly. He held his breath: the blood settled around his
heart in superstitious terror. It was the wailing voice of a woman.

"Ruth, Ruth! for God's sake come and help me!"

The blood flew back hotly to Rand's cheek. It was Mornie's voice. By
leaning over the ledge, he could distinguish something moving along the
almost precipitous face of the cliff, where an abandoned trail, long
since broken off and disrupted by the fall of a portion of the ledge,
stopped abruptly a hundred feet below him. Rand knew the trail, a
dangerous one always: in its present condition a single mis-step
would be fatal. Would she make that mis-step? He shook off a horrible
temptation that seemed to be sealing his lips, and paralyzing his
limbs, and almost screamed to her, "Drop on your face, hang on to the
chaparral, and don't move!"

In another instant, with a coil of rope around his arm, he was dashing
down the almost perpendicular "slide." When he had nearly reached the
level of the abandoned trail, he fastened one end of the rope to a
jutting splinter of granite, and began to "lay out," and work his
way laterally along the face of the mountain. Presently he struck the
regular trail at the point from which the woman must have diverged.

"It is Rand," she said, without lifting her head.

"It is," replied Rand coldly. "Pass the rope under your arms, and I'll
get you back to the trail."