"Where is Ruth?" she demanded again, without moving. She was trembling,
but with excitement rather than fear.

"I don't know," returned Rand impatiently. "Come! the ledge is already
crumbling beneath our feet."

"Let it crumble!" said the woman passionately.

Rand surveyed her with profound disgust, then passed the rope around her
waist, and half lifted, half swung her from her feet. In a few moments
she began to mechanically help herself, and permitted him to guide her
to a place of safety. That reached, she sank down again.

The rising moon shone full upon her face and figure. Through his growing
indignation Rand was still impressed and even startled with the change
the few last months had wrought upon her. In place of the silly,
fanciful, half-hysterical hoyden whom he had known, a matured woman,
strong in passionate self-will, fascinating in a kind of wild, savage
beauty, looked up at him as if to read his very soul.

"What are you staring at?" she said finally. "Why don't you help me on?"

"Where do you want to go?" said Rand quietly.

"Where! Up there!"--she pointed savagely to the top of the
mountain,--"to HIM! Where else should I go?" she said, with a bitter
laugh.

"I've told you he wasn't there," said Rand roughly. "He hasn't
returned."

"I'll wait for him--do you hear?--wait for him; stay there till he
comes. If you won't help me, I'll go alone."

She made a step forward but faltered, staggered, and was obliged to lean
against the mountain for support. Stains of travel were on her dress;
lines of fatigue and pain, and traces of burning passionate tears, were
on her face; her black hair flowed from beneath her gaudy bonnet; and,
shamed out of his brutality, Rand placed his strong arm round her waist,
and half carrying, half supporting her, began the ascent. Her head
dropped wearily on his shoulder; her arm encircled his neck; her hair,
as if caressingly, lay across his breast and hands; her grateful eyes
were close to his; her breath was upon his cheek: and yet his only
consciousness was of the possibly ludicrous figure he might present to
his brother, should he meet him with Mornie Nixon in his arms. Not a
word was spoken by either till they reached the summit. Relieved at
finding his brother still absent, he turned not unkindly toward the
helpless figure on his arm. "I don't see what makes Ruth so late," he
said. "He's always here by sundown. Perhaps--"

"Perhaps he knows I'm here," said Mornie