Billinger had come in time--just in time! He struggled so that he could turn his head and look down the chasm.
Yes, there was Billinger--a hundred yards away, hunched over his saddle.
Billinger, with his broken leg, his magnificent courage, his-- With a wild cry Philip jerked himself free.
Good God, it was not Billinger! It was Isobel! She had slipped from the saddle--he saw her as she tottered a few steps among the rocks and then sank down among them.

With his pistol still in his hand he ran back to where Billinger's horse was standing.

The girl was crumpled against the side of a boulder, with her head in her arms--and she was crying.

In an instant he was beside her, and all that he had ever dreamed of, all that he had ever hoped for, burst from his lips as he caught her and held her close against his breast.

Yet he never could have told what he said.
Only he knew that her arms were clasped about his neck, and that, as she pressed her face against him, she sobbed over and over again something about the old days at Lac Bain--and that she loved him, loved him! Then his eyes turned up the chasm, and what he saw there made him bend low behind the boulder and brought a strange thrill into his voice.
"You will stay here--a little while," he whispered, running his fingers through her shining hair.