a supreme effort of mind. She must rise and go
on. She struggled to rise, but her limbs had left her, deserted her,
stricken as if by paralysis.

Raft took off his cap and put it in his pocket, then he went to the
cliff side and rested the harpoon against it, standing up. She watched
him, vaguely wondering what he was about, then he returned to her and
bent down and she found herself lifted suddenly and seated on his left
shoulder.

"Hold on to my hair," cried he. Then he bent and picked up the bundle,
went to the cliff side and picked up the harpoon and started. The giant
strength that had caught her when she jumped from the Lizard Point ledge
was carrying her now like a feather, the crook of his left arm round her
legs to steady her, the harpoon clutched in his left hand, the bundle
swung over his right shoulder.

And she held on to his hair as a child might, without a word, and as she
held the strength of him seemed to permeate her through her fingers
casting fear and misery out.

She felt as a tiny tired child feels when caught up and carried by its
mother, and carrying her so he strode on, cursing himself for not having
carried her before.

It was a three-mile journey to that roughness on the cliff and as he
drew near he saw that they were saved, at least for the time.

The rock broke here in ledges like steps and twenty feet up and well
beyond tide mark ran a little plateau some ten or twelve feet broad.

She saw it as well as he and filled with new strength she cried out to
be set down.

"Stay easy," said Raft. "It's easier to carry the bundle with you on my
shoulder, you ain't no weight."

Then when he reached the steps:

"Done it b'God," said he.

He dropped the bundle and harpoon, and, lifting her, set her feet on the
basalt steps.

"Can you climb it?" asked he.

Without a word she climbed and sitting on the little plateau looked down
on him.

Then he followed with the things and took his seat beside her. They sat
for a while without a word, the bare rocks and the grey sea before
them.

A great rock out at sea, pierced and arched like the frame work of a
door, shewed through its opening the sea beyond. Gulls flew round it and
their eternal complaint came on the wind blowing, still lightly, from
the north.

Raft seemed absorbed in thought.

Then he said: "It won't be high water until gettin' on for dark. We'd
better stick here the night anyhow and get the low tide to-morrow. But
there's