Lights began to flash in the chasm, feeble and glimmering in contrast with the gigantic ruggedness of its massive walls. Then Roland Dorrien started as if he had been shot. Their time of emancipation had come. She was about to be taken from him, and he must wander forth again. Rapidly he resumed his tinted glasses, which in the uncertain light would suffice to guard against recognition. "This way?" he called out in a harsh, quavering voice which needed no disguise. "The young lady is perfectly safe, and you will find her here." Twice that night did these stern cliffs echo a great cry. First, the awful outpouring of a human soul in its last depths of anguish, now a shout of unparalleled joy and thankfulness. The searching party rushed in the direction of the sound, stumbling and nearly falling in their eagerness. "Here we are. Now, careful," cried Roland. And Olive's half-fainting form was lowered from the ledge which had proved such an ark in the time of need, and placed in her father's arms. The rough fishermen turned away their heads, and honest Jem Pollock's manful attempts to clear his throat resulted in a series of dismal barks, which echoed hideously from the overhanging heights. "Well, I'm darned!" he said, looking up at the ledge. "Who'd ha' thought such a blessed bit o' good luck? Well, I'm darned--ahum!--beg pardon, Muster Turner," he interjected apologetically, becoming aware of the young curate's presence, right at his elbow. The first joy of success over, they began to eye the stranger with some curiosity. He stepped forward. "I fancy the young lady will soon come round," he said in his assumed voice, which grated with an anxious harshness upon the ears of the listeners. "She has been rather frightened, I fear, and is very wet. The sooner you get her between warm blankets the better." "You have earned for yourself the gratitude and blessing not only of a father but of an entire community, sir," said Turner, extending his hand to him. "Indeed! How?" "Why, by saving this young lady's life," went on Turner in surprise. "Anyone can see with half an eye that she could never have reached that place of refuge but for you." The other smiled sadly. "I fancy the young lady saved both our lives, since it was she who suggested falling back on this place at all," he replied. "There was no other chance for us, and so I acted on the idea--happily, as it transpired. And now, if I might suggest--she should be taken home as soon as possible." Leaving reluctantly his recovered child, Dr Ingelow hurried up. "God bless you, sir, whoever you may be!" he cried, seizing both the strangers hands. "Pray do me the favour of making my house your resting-place--you must be wet through and thoroughly tired out--and of allowing me to become further acquainted with one who has rescued my darling child from a terrible death."