The rough angles of the walls, and the thick ivy, gave her tolerable foothold. But now and again her weight dragged the stems from their hold of the wall, and she would slip down a little way with a jerk that sent the blood back upon her heart with a rush. It was hard work; it was a struggle for life--a life that, a few minutes ago, she would have sacrificed, for then all hope seemed to have gone. But since then the star had risen a little once more, by reason of the pain-wrung cry of a human sufferer. She struggled with desperate energy to save that life. Lower and lower she went. It seemed as if she would never reach the goal. The ivy ripped and gave way, painfully straining and jerking her arms, and the rough stones lacerated and tore her hands. But there was no giving up until she reached the wished-for point. She clung desperately--she struggled bravely, and the reward came at last--she was abreast of the lower verandah! She got a foothold, then clutched the railing, and, in a few moments, stood on the floor, breathless and exhausted, but safe so far. The figure of the prostrate woman was a few feet off. She moved to her, bent down, turned her over, and then uttered a silent prayer of thankfulness, as she recognised the well-known features of her faithful ayah. But it was evident that Zeemit was wounded grievously. She was unconscious, and lay in a pool of blood, which flowed from a deep wound in the forehead. In her descent she had struck her head on the railing of the verandah; but this probably saved her life, as it caused her to roll inward, instead of outward. Flora endeavoured to staunch the blood. She chafed the hands, and raised the body to a sitting posture. Her efforts were at length rewarded, for consciousness slowly returned to the old woman. It was some time before she could realise her exact position. But, as the truth dawned upon her, she grasped the hand of Flora, and cried-- “Allah be praised, missy, you are still safe!” “We both live,” answered Flora; “but we both stand in deadly peril. How are we to save ourselves?” “You must not think of me. You must endeavour to get free of this place, and save your own life.” “And leave you here!” cried Flora; “never!” “You are a brave girl, and Zeemit thanks you; but you must go. Wanna is, no doubt, dead. If she fell to the ground, which seems probable, it would have been impossible to have survived such a fall. Dead people tell no tales; therefore we have nothing to fear from her. I feel that I cannot rise. For me to go with you would but impede your flight. Leave me. I shall be discovered. I shall tell Jewan that Wanna intended to set you free, tempted by a heavy bribe you offered. I endeavoured to prevent her--we struggled, and fell over the verandah--and then all is blank to me. This will give me an opportunity of rendering you still further assistance, because, however angry Jewan may be, he would scarcely dare to offer me violence.”