front of her overflowed in a crest of dark boughs against the amber splendour behind it—a part of the beauty of the beautiful world that was slipping away from her. The chill of the evening gulf breeze began to creep over her. Once a bit of earth broke off at her side and went down—Emily heard the thud of the little pebbles in it on the boulders below. The portion upon which one of her legs lay was quite loose and pendent also. She knew it might break off, too, at any moment. It would be very dreadful to be there when it got dark. She could see the big spray of farewell-summer that had lured her to her doom, waving unplucked above her, wonderfully purple and lovely.
Then, beside it, she saw a man’s face looking down at her!
She heard him say, “My God!” softly to himself. She saw that he was slight and that one shoulder was a trifle higher than the other. This must be Dean Priest—Jarback Priest. Emily dared not call to him. She lay still and her great, grey-purple eyes said, “Save me.”
“How can I help you?” said Dean Priest hoarsely, as if to himself. “I cannot reach you—and it looks as if the slightest touch or jar would send that broken earth over the brink. I must go for a rope—and to leave you here alone—like this. Can you wait, child?”
“Yes,” breathed Emily. She smiled at him to encourage him—the little soft smile that began at the corners of her mouth and spread over her face. Dean Priest never forgot that smile—and the steadfast child-eyes looking out through it from the little face that seemed so perilously near the brink.
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” he said. “I can’t go very fast—I’m a bit lame, you see. But don’t be frightened—I’ll save you. I’ll leave my dog to keep you company. Here, Tweed.”
He whistled—a great, tawny-gold dog came in sight.
“Sit right there, Tweed, till I come back. Don’t stir
