l. He tried to move, to spring
up, but only his mind appeared free. Then he thought he recognized
her voice calling in the distance. Soon, with alternations of hope
and fear, he heard her steps and voice draw nearer. She had evidently
found a way down the ledge, and was coming along its base toward
him--coming swiftly, almost recklessly.

She was at his side. Her low, terror-stricken cry chilled his heart.
Was he dead? and was it his soul only, lingering in the body, that was
cognizant of all this?

Her hand was on his pulse, then inside his vest against his heart.

"Oh," she moaned, "can he be dying or dead? I can't find his pulse,
nor does his heart seem to beat. He is so pale, so deathly pale, even
to his lips."

He knew that she was lifting him into a different and easier position,
and wondered at the muscular power she exerted, even under excitement.

"Why, why," she exclaimed in horror, "he is cold, strangely cold! His
hands and brow are almost like ice, and wet with the dew of death."

She was not aware of the fact that extreme coldness and a clammy
perspiration would be among the results of such a severe shock.

"Graydon," she gasped, "Graydon!" Then after a moment: "O God, if he
should never know!"

She chafed his hands and wrists, opened the lunch basket, and found
that the bottle containing water was not broken, for he felt drops
dashed on his face, and his lips moistened; but the same stony
paralysis enchained him. Then she sent out her voice for help, and
there was agony, terror, and heart-break in her cry.

Realizing the futility of this on the lonely mountainside, she soon
ceased, and again sought, with almost desperate energy, to restore
him, crying and moaning meanwhile in a way that smote his heart. At
last she threw herself on his breast with the bitter cry:

"Oh, Graydon, Graydon, are you dying? Will you _never_ know? Oh, my
heart's true love, shall I never have a chance to tell you that it
was you I loved--you only! It was for you I went away alone to die, I
feared. For you I struggled back to life, and toiled and prayed that
I might be your fair ideal; and now you may never know. Graydon,
Graydon, I would give you the very blood out of my heart--O God, I
can't restore him!" she moaned, in a choking voice, and then he knew
from her dead weight upon his breast that she had fainted.

This mental anguish and the effort he put forth to respond to
these words caused great beads of sweat to s