Far down they had seen something white fluttering and gleaming amid a tuft of cedars and a quavering voice had cried: "Help, help, oh, help!" And so the duel was at an end. VIII. Hotel Helicon was shaken out of its sleep by the startling rumor to the effect that Miss Moyne had fallen down the precipice at Eagle's Nest. Of all the rudely awakened and mightily frightened inmates, perhaps Miss Moyne herself was most excited by this waft of bad news. She had been sleeping very soundly in dreamless security and did not at first feel the absurdity of being told that she had just tumbled down the escarpment, which in fact she never yet had summoned the courage to approach, even when sustained by a strong masculine arm. "O dear! how did it happen?" she demanded of her aunt, Mrs. Coleman Rhodes, who had rushed upon her dainty couch with the frightful announcement of her accident. "Oh, Alice! you are here, you are not hurt at all! Oh!" Mrs. Rhodes went on, "and what _can_ it all mean!" Everybody rushed out, of course, as soon as hurried dressing would permit, and fell into the confusion that filled the halls and main veranda. Crane was talking in a loud, but well modulated strain, explaining the accident: "Mr. Peck and I," he went on to say, "were enjoying a friendly turn at sword-play up here at Eagle's Nest; couldn't sleep, needed exercise, and went up there so as not to disturb any one. While we were fencing she came rushing past through those bushes and leaped right over with a great shriek. She--" "Don't stop to talk," cried Mr. E. Hobbs Lucas, with a directness and clearness quite unusual in a historian. "Don't stop to talk, let's go do something!" "Yes, come on," quavered poor Peck, his face whiter than the moon and his beard quivering in sympathy with his voice. "Oh, it's dreadful, awful!" moaned little Mrs. Philpot, "poor, dear Miss Moyne, to think that she is gone!" and she leaned heavily on Miss Moyne's shoulder as she spoke. It was a strange scene, too confused for the best dramatic effect, but spectacular in the extreme. Servants swarmed out with lights that wavered fantastically in the moonshine, while the huddled guests swayed to and fro in a body. Every face was pinched with intense excitement and looked haggard under its crown of disheveled hair. Even the hotel windows stared in stupid horror, and the kindly countenances of the negro waiters took on a bewildered and meaningless grin set in a black scowl of superstition and terror. When Dufour came upon the scene, he did not appear in the least flurried, and the first thing he did was to lay his hand on Miss Moyne's shoulder and exclaim in a clear tenor strain: "Why, here! it's all a mistake! What are you talking about? Here's Miss Moyne! Here she stands!" "Mercy! where?" enquired little Mrs. Philpot, who was still leaning on her friend and shedding bitter tears.