"She will take hold of your hand, but don't attempt to get upon your feet until I reach you.

Don't even move." "No more than a rock," replied the traveler.
Hulda had already begun to descend the ledge, carefully selecting the less slippery parts of the slope with the clear head of a true daughter of the Telemark.
And she, too, now called out as Joel had done: "Holdfast, sir." "Yes; I am holding fast, and I assure you that I shall continue to do so as long as I can." "And above all don't be afraid!" added Hulda.
"I am not afraid." "We'll save you yet!" cried Joel.
"I hope so, indeed; for by Saint Olaf I shall never succeed in getting out of this scrape myself." It was evident that the tourist had lost none of his presence of mind; but his fall had probably disabled him, and all he could do now was to keep himself upon the narrow shelf of rock that separated him from the abyss.
Meanwhile Hulda continued her descent, and in a few minutes reached the traveler; then, bracing her foot against a projecting point in the rock, she caught hold of his hand.
The traveler involuntarily attempted to raise himself a little.
"Don't move, sir, don't move," cried Hulda.

"You will be sure to drag me down with you, for I am not strong enough to keep you from falling! You must wait until my brother reaches us.

When he gets between us and the fall you can then try to get up." "That is more easily said than done I fear." "Are you so much hurt, sir?
I hope you have broken no bones." "No; but one leg is badly cut and scratched." Joel was about twenty yards from them, the rounded shape of the brow of the cliff having prevented him from joining them at once.

He was now obliged to climb this rounded surface.