Here his strength failed him and he sank trembling with exhaustion upon the first friendly stone, still a hundred feet from where she sat.

In his bitter rage against her he strove to shout, but the effort was little more than a hoarse whisper.

Lying there impotently, he studied her attitude as the minutes crept by, and there came at last into his heart a touch of pity that swelled with the sight of her.
Pain-racked but determined, he again started toward the elevation, crawling over and around the boulders that intervened.

He was within five feet of her before he spoke, and then not until he had studied her face for some moments, steadying himself against a large rock.

She was more beautiful than ever with her black hair awry and matted, brushed away from the pure white face and fastened recklessly with the shell combs she had worn on board the _Tempest Queen_.