The muscles under his arm-pits were aching unbearably, and there was a queer tingling in his right wrist. As he looked at this, he saw how it was quivering. His left arm was quivering, too. He could feel it. He realized with a shock that this was a movement over which he had no control. Nature, apparently, was rebelling against his will.... And his fingers, crooked about the trunk of the sapling, were getting hot--making the bark greasy.... Convulsively he sought foothold for the thirtieth time, but, except for tweaking the agony in his chest, the effort was vain. Desperately he blinked the sweat out of his eyes.... Patch appeared upon the scene, snuffing the ground casually enough. His surprise to see his master in so strange an attitude was unmistakable. After a moment's reflection he decided that the position was that required by the rules of a new game in which he was intended to participate. He therefore made ready to play, and, lowering his head to his paws, put up his nose and barked joyously. "Come here, Patch," said Anthony. The tone was not that of the playground, and the terrier obeyed mechanically--circumspectly, too, though, for he disliked heights. Anthony addressed his companion. "When he's near enough, take hold of his collar. Hang on like grim death. Listen! My arm's giving out. I'm going to let you go while I pull myself up. It's the only chance. You're light, and he'll stick his toes in. Put a strain on him now, so that he's ready." "I shall pull him over," said Valerie. "No, you won't, dear. Do as I say. Quick!" He almost screamed the last word. The moment he felt the strain, the terrier resisted wildly. Planting his forefeet against the heather-roots, he refused with all the instinctive terror of the dumb animal, straining every muscle of his little thick-set frame to avoid a closer acquaintance with that horrible brink.... Very gently Anthony lowered his companion till her arm was resting upon the turf and the edge of the cliff was in her arm-pit. Then-- "Only a second, sweet," he said quietly, and let her go.... With a frightful heave he was on his stomach ... on his thighs ... his knees ... feet. He turned, staggering. His back hunched like a cat's, Patch was sliding forward. In a flash Lyveden had stooped, caught Valerie's arm with both hands, dug in his heels and flung himself backward.... The three landed in a heap anyhow. The moment he was at length detached from Valerie, Patch retired a good score of paces from the edge of the bluff. He had had enough of cliffs for the rest of his life. His master's interpretation of games was usually brilliant. This last was an exception. He could see nothing in it. * * * * * Betty Alison laid her hand orderly upon the green baize, with the complacent air of the player who is presenting his or her partner with all the essential factors of Grand Slam.