"I don’t think He is like that," said Monica. "I think He loves us too much. I am sure I have heard something about Him not wanting anybody to perish. I am going to try to serve Him after this, Olive, so don’t persuade me not to, any more." "Oh, I won’t! I am so miserable. I would rather be good, too, but I can’t!" cried the unhappy girl, who had caught a glimpse of her real self during those moments of agonised suspense. "I will try to help you, dear, but I shan’t know quite what to do myself," said Monica; "but if God hears our prayers, and lets us get rescued, it would be mean not to try to please Him after that." "He may hear your prayers," was Olive’s desponding reply, "but I _can’t_ pray." "Try, dear," whispered Monica, closing her own eyes, and asking once again that help might be speedily forthcoming, for she did not feel as if she could hold on much longer. But, even as she prayed, a voice calling both their names came floating over the cliff, and Elsa’s face, white and strained, but with hope written all over it, looked down at them. "Hold tight, Monica and Olive, just for a minute more. Mr. Herschel is coming down to help you." And in a moment more, the young clergyman, his body encircled by a stout rope, which was secured at the other end to the stump of a tree on the cliff path above, climbed carefully but quickly down to them. "Thank God, we were near at hand!" he said, as he realised the spent condition both girls were in; "but you will soon be safe now." "Please take Olive first," urged Monica, and Leslie, filled with admiration for the pluck and unselfishness the girl displayed, made his way cautiously to the summit, half-leading, half-carrying the almost helpless Olive, the rope which was slowly pulled up as he neared the top, affording him a sense of security. It was the work of a very few moments to lay his burden down upon the short heather, to be tenderly cared for by Elsa, and to return for her companion. Marcus eagerly suggested that he should take a turn, but Leslie waved him back, saying: "No, no, Drury; you do the holding, that’s the hardest, really," and was scrambling down again before he could be gainsaid. "Your friend is safe," he said, as he reached Monica’s side, and at his words a tinge of colour appeared in her face, which was white even to the lips, but quite calm. "You’re not afraid to trust yourself to me?" he added, more as an assertion than a question, for he had observed, with satisfaction, that Monica had heaved a little sigh of content as she felt herself supported by his strong arm. "No, oh! no," she whispered, and a smile, pathetic in its wanness, illumined the girlish features, causing the young clergyman’s heart to beat strangely, in a fashion hitherto unknown to him. Then she nerved herself for the necessary climb, which was accomplished in silence, and neither of the couple was sorry when the brow of the cliff was eventually reached in safety, and Marcus cried: "Bravo!"