"Anybody there ?" Once more he listened; and now, once more, he heard the sound--this time he knew it was a cry for help! "Where are you ?" shouted he, plunging forward along the steep side of the cliff.

"Where ?" No answer, save a groan.
"Coming! Coming!" he hailed loudly.

Then, guided as it seemed by instinct, almost as much as by the vague direction of the moaning call, he ploughed his way through brush and briar, on rescue bent.
All at once he stopped short in his tracks, wild-eyed, a stammering exclamation on his lips.
"A woman!" he cried.
True.

There, lying as though violently flung, a woman was half-crouched, half-prone behind the roots of a huge maple that leaned out far above a sheer declivity.
He saw torn clothing, through the foliage; a white hand, out-stretched and bleeding; a mass of golden-coppery hair that lay dishevelled on the bed of moss and last autumn's leaves.
"A woman! Dying ?" he thought, with a sudden stab of pity in his heart.
Then, forcing his way along, he reached her, and fell upon his knees at her side.
"Not dead! Not dying! Thank God!" he exclaimed.

One glance showed him she would live.