Two minutes, five minutes, elapsed before she moved.
What was that? Surely a voice somewhere near her moaning for help. Chris
stood perfectly still, listening for the next cry. Her sense of humanity
had been touched, she had forgotten Merritt entirely. Again the stifled
cry for help came.
"Who are you?" Chris shouted. "And where are you?"
"Henson," came the totally unexpected reply. "I'm down below on a ledge
of rock. No, I'm not particularly badly hurt, but I dare not move."
Chris paused for a moment, utterly bewildered. Henson must have been on
the look-out for his accomplice, she thought, and had missed his footing
and fallen. Pity he had not fallen a little farther, she murmured
bitterly, and broken his neck. But this was only for a moment, and her
sense of justice and humanity speedily returned.
"I cannot see anything of you," she said.
"All the same, I can see your outline," Henson said, dismally. "I don't
feel quite so frightened now. I can hang on a bit longer, especially now
I know assistance is at hand. At first I began to be afraid that I was a
prisoner for the night. No; don't go.
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