he twisted his meager
arms tightly round Errington, and thrust him fiercely with all his might
towards the edge of the Fall. For one second Philip strove against
him--the next, he closed his eyes--Thelma's face smiled on his mind in
that darkness as though in white farewell--the surging blood roared in
his ears with more thunder than the terrific tumble of the
torrent--"God!" he muttered, and _then_--then he stood safe on the upper
part of the rocky platform with Lorimer's strong hand holding him in a
vice-like grasp, and Lorimer's face, pale, but looking cheerfully into
his. For a moment he was too bewildered to speak. His friend loosened
him and laughed rather forcedly--a slight tremble of his lips was
observable under his fair moustache.

"By Jove, Phil," he remarked in his usual nonchalant manner, "that was
rather a narrow shave! Fortunate I happened to be there!"

Errington gazed about him confusedly. "Where's Sigurd?" he asked.

"Gone! Ran off like a 'leapin' goat,' as Sandy elegantly describes him.
I thought at first he meant to jump over the Fall, in which case I
should have been compelled to let him have his own way, as my hands were
full. But he's taken a safe landward direction."

"Didn't he try to push me over?"

"Exactly! He was quite convinced that the mermaids wanted you. But I
considered that Miss Thelma's wishes had a prior claim on my regard."

"Look here, old man," said Errington suddenly, "don't jest about it! You
saved my life!"

"Well!" and Lorimer laughed. "Quite by accident, I assure you."

"_Not_ by accident!" and Philip flushed up, looking very handsome and
earnest. "I believe you followed us up here thinking something might
happen. Now didn't you?"

"Suppose I did," began Lorimer, but he was interrupted by his friend,
who seized his hand, and pressed it with a warm, close, affectionate
fervor. Their eyes met--and Lorimer blushed as though he had performed
some action meriting blame rather than gratitude. "That'll do, old
fellow," he said almost nervously. "As we say in polite society when
some one crushes our favorite corn under his heel--don't mention it! You
see Sigurd _is_ cracked,--there's not the slightest doubt about
that,--and he's hardly accountable for his vagaries. Then I know
something about him that perhaps you don't. He loves your Thelma!"

They were making the descent of the rocks together, and Errington
stopped short in surprise.

"Loves Thelma! You mean as a broth