Rava heard the brief struggle with palpitating heart: the crash of the fall of the armored man, the mad gallop of the horse, and then only the roaring of the torrent. She rose from her knees. There was no sign of Cristoval or his adversary, and only distant hoof-beats to vary the monotonous din of the stream. She leaned against the rock, weak and shaking. For a moment she stood with straining ears. The gallop had died away, and she was alone. Minute after minute fled, and at last she could endure no longer. Unheeding the pain of every step, she sped to the trail. No slightest evidence of life. She ran a few steps down the canyon, halted trembling, and turned to the jutting rock. Here she stopped and looked down, transfixed. There lay a man in armor, inanimate; beside him the form of Cristoval, face upward and marred by a stream of blood from his forehead. She tottered, and parted her lips to scream, but her voice failed. How she descended from the path she never knew; but in a moment she was kneeling with his head in her lap, calling his name in agony, and wiping away the crimson stream. She thought of the water, and in a second was carrying it in her hands and bathing his face, praying, praying for a sign of animation. Tears blinded her while she worked, hurrying to and from the edge of the torrent, dashing the too meagre handfuls into the still face, chafing his wrists, beating the nerveless hands, sobbing and moaning his name. He lay without a quiver. She thought she looked upon death, and her fear became wild, frenzied despair. She cast a shuddering look of horror at the grim desolation surrounding her, and threw herself upon him, her hands at his throat, on his cheeks, in his hair, wailing his name in the extremity of mortal anguish. He sighed. Ah, merciful Sun!—most beneficent Inti! She stifled her sobs and brushed away her tears that she might see. His eyelids trembled, and now a moan, most faint, barely audible, but—he lived! More water, and more, and when she came again his eyes were open, blankly at the sky at first, then at her. She wept for joy, pressing his hands to her bosom, while he regarded her vaguely, striving to arrange his muddled thoughts. "Courage!" murmured Cristoval, and closed his eyes again, to be startled to his senses by a shriek from the girl. De Valera had moved, and was feebly groaning. Cristoval turned his head at the sound, and the sight of his fallen enemy aroused him.