Then he saw a deep gulch yawning below him, and caught the flutter of a handkerchief on the far side.

But how could he reach there?
Down he plunged with reckless haste, having little or no regard for his own safety--and, indeed, he who hesitated here was lost, for at every step the rock crumbled and slid under his weight.
"It will be queer work getting back!" he said to himself, then pressed onward to reach the side of the gulch, where now he could see Mary Selincourt crouched on a narrow ledge or shelf against a perpendicular cliff, while the water was rising higher and higher, creeping nearer and nearer to where she sat.
How could he rescue her from there?
One hope he had, that her shelf might be above high-water mark, in which case patient endurance would be all that was needed until the tide ran out again.

A glance at the wall of cliff behind Mary proved this hope to be futile, for the mark of the water showed above her head, and if she were not rescued speedily, he could only stand by and see her drown.
"Are you hurt ?" he called out when he had scrambled low enough to talk to her.
"I have twisted my foot rather badly," she said in an exhausted tone, "and I seem to have been shouting and whistling for help for so long.

I had great difficulty to make the dog leave me and go for help, but I think it understood at last, because it went off at such a pace." "Well, we must get you out of this as soon as possible, for the tide is coming up fast.

Do you mind a wetting!" he asked, creeping down to the edge of the dividing water, and wondering whether he could wade or if he must swim.
"Mind or not mind, I shall get one, I expect," she answered, with a nervous laugh.