The die was cast, and a curious peace descended upon him. The pressure of the emergency held his brain to the exclusion of all else. For the moment he had no regrets; consciousness was bounded by the difficulties of his descent. This was not nearly as awful as he had expected. There was plenty of foothold, and he went down rapidly, coming upon Gerald's body some time before he thought it possible. Most providentially the victim had fallen upon the bundle of hay which the workmen on the previous day had set alight and thrown in to dispel the noxious gas. The hole, at this point, was not very deep--not deeper than a well, though further along the cleft he saw a yawning gulf of unexplored horror and blackness. He stooped over Rosenberg, who was still groaning and not completely unconscious, though evidently much hurt. "If you can hear what I say, try to do as I tell you," said he, speaking with great distinctness close to his ear. "Can you sit up?" Gerald moved slightly, muttering something that sounded like "Let me alone!" On that Gaunt saw that he had but one course. He must not attempt to reach the surface with him. He must transfer the rope from his own waist, and send up the injured man first. He was still just capable of doing this, but he was growing deadly sick and faint. With the feeling that it was a race--a grim race between his failing faculties and time--he detached the cord. He succeeded, after what seemed to him like a protracted struggle, in fastening the knots round Gerald securely. Now what must he do? His brain was swimming, his breath came short, but he knew there was something else. Yes, of course! He must jerk the rope. Once--twice--thrice! He did it and waited. Something was about to happen. He had forgotten what it was. His mind was swimming aimlessly round, like a fish in warm water, as he said to himself. He lay down. Then the thing upon which he was leaning his heavy head began to move; it was lifted; he tried to sit up, grasping in his hands the hay upon which he was crouched. The space was very narrow. Was it wide enough to serve him for a--for a--one of those things they use to bury the dead? It was his last thought. Immediately upon thinking it he was asleep. * * * * * "Fifty pounds to the man who brings him up!" cried Virgie, kneeling upon the very brink. Gerald had been hauled up, dragged forth from the cave, through the hole, hurried into the open air. He was alive, and they thought he would recover. But the man who had risked his life to save him lay still in the deadly abyss. One of the workmen, however, speedily upon her appeal, roped himself up. "Can't be very deep, 'm," he said consolingly. "If I take two ropes with me, that'll be all right. We've got a plenty hands now, and my mates can pull." He disappeared, and Virgie crouched there on the brink, huddled and shivering, counting the terrible moments.