Another desperate effort, and he clung to the ledge for a brief moment or two, and then a yell arose from above, as he went down a few feet and felt what seemed a violent blow against his side. The next instant his hands had closed upon the tough stem of a stunted yew, and he was hanging there, hitched in the little branches, saved from falling farther, but unable to move from the fear of tearing the shrub from its root-hold in a crack of the cliff, where there was not a trace of anything else to which he could cling. CHAPTER EIGHT. HOW RALPH SECURED THE WOLF'S CUB. The perspiration broke out in great drops upon Mark Eden's face; and for some minutes he hung there, expecting moment by moment that each was his last, for he knew that he could do nothing, and that he must not stir hand or foot. And now he began to realise how mad his attempt had been. Better far that he had resigned himself to circumstances, and climbed back to the top. But even then he felt he could not have done this. It would have been like humbling himself to an enemy of his house, and a flush of pride came into his pallid cheeks as he felt that he had boldly played his part. Then a sense of misery and despair crept over him as he thought of home, of his father and sister, and their sorrow when they knew of his fate. All that passed off, and a flush of anger and indignation made his temples throb, for he distinctly heard Nick Garth say,-- "Why not? Heave it down yourself, then, and put him out of his misery." What else was said he could not make out; voices were in hurried converse evidently a short distance back from the edge of the cliff, and then Mark recognised Ralph's tones, as he said huskily,-- "Can you hold on?" A bitter defiant taunt came to Mark's lips, and he cried,-- "Your doing, coward! Are you satisfied with your work?" There was no answer, but the hurried murmur came over the edge of the cliff again, followed by what sounded like angry commands, and then all was silent for a few moments. "Don't move," cried Ralph then. "I've sent for help. They've gone for ropes. One will be here directly. I sent for it before. Can you hold on?" Mark made no reply, for no words would come. Hope had sprung up at the possibility of escape, for life seemed then to be very sweet, but there was a bitterness to dull the bright thought, for the lad felt that it was the hated enemy of his house who was trying to help. Then a dull feeling of apathy, as if he had been half stunned, came over him as he hung there in a terribly cramped position, with his face pressed against the wall. And now, as if his hearing had become sharpened, the murmur of the rushing river came up quite loudly, and the wind seemed to be gathering force, while all this was, as it were, preparatory to his falling headlong down. Then he must have lost his senses for some little time, for the next thing he heard was a voice crying out, in tones full of despair,--