The boy had roused himself, and in his eagerness had caught both his brother’s hands in an earnest grasp. What Geoffrey would have replied to this appeal cannot be known, for just at that moment there was a rustling among the stones, then the rush of a falling body, accompanied by one of those horrible screams of mortal agony, which those who have once heard them can never forget. Both boys sprang to their feet with a cry of horror. Geoffrey’s clear, cool head first comprehended what was the matter. He ran as near the border of the precipice, as he dared, and then, creeping on his hands and knees to the very edge, looked down. There, far below him, but as far above the water, caught in a scrubby tree that grew out of a cleft in the rock, lay a dark object, only just discernible in the moonlight; and again came the cry for help, but feebler than before. "It is a man over the cliff!" shouted the boy. "Run, Hubert, for Bertrand and a rope; quick, or it will be too late! He is hanging in the elf oak!" Then, when his brother was gone, he shouted words of encouragement to the unfortunate man. "Hold hard, man! help is near, and the tree strong, but trust not to the upper branch, it is a dead one; hold fast but a little while." The man was in too great a state of terror to hear or understand, but kept exclaiming that he was lost, and vowing candles to every saint in the calendar, and pilgrimages to a dozen shrines; but his voice grew fainter and fainter, and had ceased entirely, before Hubert returned, accompanied by Humphrey Singleton and Bertrand. It took but a moment to uncoil the rope and fasten one end around a rock; then Geoffrey hailed the stranger: "Ho! friend, help has come; courage! We will send you down a rope; have you strength to tie it round your body?" No reply came. All shouted together, and then waited breathlessly for an answer, but none came. "He is dead, or he has swooned," said the old master; "may the Lord have mercy on his soul! We can do no more." Meanwhile there had been a tumult of varied feelings in Geoffrey’s mind. Who can this stranger be? had been naturally his first thought when he saw the accident. There could be but one answer--it was an enemy; none other would have been concealed at such an hour on those lonely cliffs. One of Chichely’s spies must have been lurking behind the rocks, and, missing his footing, had fallen to what must be his certain destruction if not speedily rescued. And this was the man whom certain feelings of humanity in his heart were calling on him to save at the risk of his own life--one of the very men, perhaps, who had aided in making his father a homeless outlaw; nay more, who had been but a few moments before thirsting for the blood of himself and his venerable protector. Was it not the dictate of common prudence which incited him to send a cross-bow bolt after the wretch, rather than rescue him to go on in the commission of crime?