“No, no! I want nothing to do with you!” she hissed. “But for you he would have loved me!”
The answer came promptly. Though the words were past my comprehension, the tone was one of kindly pity. It seemed to have no effect upon Walla, however, for with a gesture of disgust she turned away and caught my hand.
“Come,” she whispered. “Come! My father is over there! He is beckoning to me. Come—come! We must go!”
And we started, but I did not dare to look at Maurice.
“I will surely come back again if nothing turns up to help him,” I murmured, as I planted my foot upon the bridge.
For the first few seconds I almost feared that I had overestimated my courage. Though the bridge was wide enough for us to walk abreast the sway of the hides was fearful.
I closed my eyes, clutched Walla’s hand despairingly and pushed on.
“Courage!” roared the Doctor. “Courage! you are almost over, George!”
My eyes opened; perhaps three feet remained—it could not be more than four—but those swaying hides would rock like mad.
Steadying myself as best I could, never daring to drop my eyes to the waters which surged below me, I plunged madly on—I had almost made it—the Doctor’s right hand even grasped my left, when suddenly Walla slipped, fell forward, and in a twinkling was off our frail support.
Oh God, banish the memory of that moment!
I saw her fall; I saw her head strike the ragged edges of those merciless rocks, but thanks to the Doctor’s strong hand, I held on.
She never gave one cry. Never again did I hear the sound of her voice.
“Hold on, George! Hold on! Keep cool, old man! Slowly now! Slowly! I may be a selfish pig, but by God I am not going to let go your hand!”
Oh the horror of it! The black, unspeakable horror!
I had one foot on the hides and one foot on the rocks, my body was bent till my head was below the bridge, but still I held on, hearing the Doctor’s voice as though it were miles away; seeing that white, upturned face, over which the blood went trickling, gazing imploringly up from the depths
