"Afterwards. You first." He made all ready, bracing himself securely as near to the couloir as he could stand, while within reach if Pressford should move. Then, as Doris began her descent, he let out the rope with extreme caution. Going down was, of course, in itself more risky than going up, but the rope gave confidence and meant safety. Twice she slipped, and Maurice held firmly, till she regained her balance. Arriving at the snow-plateau, she freed herself, and stood watching, while Maurice hauled the rope in, fastened it round Pressford, and slowly lowered the latter to her side. This done, he followed, fixing part of the rope to aid him over the worst rocks. "Mr. Pressford seems rousing up a little," Doris announced. "He said something quite sensible just now." The "something sensible" must have been hazy in nature, judging from the mutter which greeted Maurice. But after a few sips of cold tea, when Maurice had tied up the wound on his friend's head with a silk handkerchief, Pressford really showed signs of reviving. "What has happened?" he was able to ask. "You've had an awkward fall, old man. Did you lose your hold?" "No—" after a pause for recollection. "No—I believe—the rock gave." "Hard luck! But you'll do now, I hope." Pressford seemed to lose himself again; and some time elapsed before his next remark. "Miss Winton—sorry—disappointed. Can't bag our peak to-day." "No. That's unfortunate." "How did you get me down? I suppose—the rope held." "Yes; but I was a fixture. It was all I could do to support your weight. I might have stayed there till Doomsday—but for Miss Winton. She climbed up to our help." "Climbed—where?" "To that ledge." Maurice indicated its position, and Pressford, startled into full consciousness, raised himself on one elbow, staring hard at the rocky rampart, then turning amazed eyes on Doris. "You were hanging above that—to one side—on the smooth slabby bit." "You don't mean to say—!" "Better lie still a little longer." Maurice put him back with a gentle hand. "You don't mean to say she climbed up there—alone!—unroped!" "Alone and unroped. She did it superbly. Not a slip from start to finish." "My goodness!" uttered Pressford, still staring. Doris broke into a little laugh of pleasure. "But I was dreadfully frightened once—at the worst part—and not at all brave," she confessed. "The rock was so steep; and there seemed almost nothing to get hold of. I thought I should have to give up." "If you felt afraid, it was much braver to go on than if you did not," Pressford said. He seemed more himself, though pale and shaken; and his gaze went to and fro between Doris and the mountain-wall. "Well—" he muttered. "I shouldn't have imagined any girl could do it—with no more training!" He turned to Maurice. "How you could let her—passes me!"