The Vision of Desire
with outflung arms and white, upturned face. He had evidently lost his
footing, and, after the first drop, rolled helplessly downward. Only the
presence of a jagged, upstanding piece of rock had saved him from falling
clean over into the depths below.
Strain as she might to see, Ann could not tell whether he were dead or
merely insensible, and the agony of uncertainty seemed to drain her of all
strength. For a few moments she lay where she was, unable to control the
trembling of her limbs, her aching eyes staring fixedly down at the still,
prone figure on the ledge below. But the paralysing terror passed, and, at
length, though still rather shakily, she dragged herself to her feet. She
must go to him--somehow she must get down to where he lay.
At first she could think of no way of reaching him. Although he himself had
attempted, and very nearly successfully accomplished, the upward climb to
the brow of the ravine, she knew she dared not attempt to make the descent
at that same spot. If there were no way round, she would have to go back
to the hotel in search of help. But that would take an hour or more! And
meanwhile Tony was lying there untended. She couldn't wait! She must get to
him--get to him at once, and know whether he were living or dead. She flung
herself down on the ground once more and cast a despairing glance at the
inaccessible shelf of rock where he lay. Then it appeared to her that,
although narrowing as it went, it ran upwards, forming a kind of rough
track below the overhanging summit which, further along, might debouch on
to the crest of the ravine.
Springing to her feet, she hurried desperately along the top in the
direction which the track seemed to take, and at length, with a gasping
sigh of relief, came to a wide fissure that slanted down to meet it.
She was sure-footed as a deer, her slim, supple body balancing itself
almost instinctively, but even so the traversing of that narrow, rocky
ledge, in parts not more than a foot wide, was a severe test of her
endurance. A single false step meant death, instantaneous and inevitable,
and the whole terrible ten minutes which it took her to complete the short
distance was poignant with the dread of what she might discover at its end.
Moving very cautiously, her bare hands sliding across the rough face of
the rock as she edged her way forward, she came at last to where the ledge
widened out and the ground above sloped gently upwards. A few steps more
and she could see Tony's young, supine figure. The last three yards were
accomplished at a run, and an instant later she was kneeling beside him,
thrusting swift, urgent hands beneath his shirt to feel whether his heart
still beat. The throb of it came softly against her palms--warm, and
pulsatingly _alive_!
Ann rocked a little on her knees. She felt sick and giddy with reaction
from the almost intolerable strain of the last few minutes. Then she caught
sight of a vivid glint of blue--a single gentian bloom still tightly
clasped in the boy's hand, and quite suddenly she began to cry, the tears
running unchecked down her face. And it was just then that Tony came back
to consciousness--to the vague consciousness of something wet splashing
down on to his face. He stirred and opened his eyes.
"Tony!" Ann's voice was hoarse with relief.
His eyes blinked at her uncertainly.
"Hello!" he said rather feebly. "What's happened?"
"I thought you were killed!" she cried unsteadily. "Oh, Tony, I thought you
were killed!"
He regarded her consideringly.
"No," he replied seriously. "I'm not at all killed. Why should I be
killed?" Then, clearer consciousness returning: "Am I talking rot? What's
happened?"
Ann slipped her arm beneath his shoulders and raised him a little so that
his head rested on her lap.
"You fell," she said, trying to speak calmly. "You were climbing up and you
fell. Where are you hurt, Tony?"
"Oh, I remember.... Yes, I fell--just as I was getting to the top. A rotten
old stump gave way under my foot."
"But where are you hurt?" persisted Ann anxiously.
"I don't think I _am_ hurt." He stretched his limbs tentatively. "No,
there's nothing broken. I feel a bit buzzy in the head, that's all."
He tried to lift himself up, but Ann pressed him back against her knees.
"Don't move! Don't move!" she cried hastily. "Lie still for a few minutes.
Are you sure--_sure_ you're not hurt?"
"Bet you a tenner I'm not," he replied, with the ghost of a grin. "My
head's clearing, too. I was only knocked out of time for a minute. Don't
worry." He put up his hand and touched her cheek. "Why, you're quite pale,
Ann."
"I _felt_ pale--when I saw you fall," she answered grimly. Her spirits were
returning now that she was assured he was uninjured. "I was certain you
must be killed."
"It would have been one way out of it all, wouldn't it?" he replied with a
touch of bitterness.
"Oh, hush! Don't speak like that."
"I won't--if it annoys you. But, anyway, you needn't worry. I shan't die
young. The gods don't love me enough."
Ann ignored this.
"Do you think you could stand now?" she asked practically.
Tony's eyes gleamed mirthfully.
"I'm very comfortable as I am," he remarked, rubbing his cheek against her
skirt.
She resisted the temptation to smile.
"I'm not--particularly," she returned briefly. "I've got cramp."
He sat up at once.
"Oh, by Jove! Why didn't you say so before?"
"Because I hadn't got it before. I was much too concerned about you to have
time for it. How do you feel? Shall I help you up?"
But Tony disclaimed the necessity for any assistance. As he said, he had
only been knocked out of time for a few minutes. He might have been made of
indiarubber for all the actual harm his fall had done him. He rose to his
feet without difficulty and proceeded to help Ann to hers.
"How do we get back?" he asked. Then, glancing upwards: "I'm hanged if I'm
going to try and climb up there a second time. How on earth did you get
here? You didn't drop from the skies, I suppose, like an angel?"
"There's a ledge--it's rather narrow, but one can just squeeze round, and
it brings you out somewhere on the top. Are you sure you can manage it,
though? You won't turn faint or anything?"--anxiously.
"No"--with impish gravity. "I shan't 'turn faint or anything.' In fact, I
could dance a hornpipe here if you liked. Still, I'll hold your hand--just
in case of accidents"--audaciously. "Shall I go first? Oh, by the way"--he
paused. "Here's your blue gentian. Won't you have it?"
Ann felt her throat contract as she recalled what the little blue flower
had so nearly cost. Her eyes filled in spite of herself.
"Good heavens! Don't cry over it!" Tony laughed carelessly. He had
recovered his usual bantering manner of speech which yet always seemed to
hold an undercurrent of bitterness. "It's not worth that. See, I'll chuck
it away, so that it can't remind you of the unpleasant shock I gave you
this afternoon."
He tossed the flower over the edge of the ravine. For an instant it seemed
to hover in the air like a blue butterfly. Then it sank slowly out of
sight.
"Here endeth the first lesson," commented Tony.
"Lesson on what?"
"On trying to get things which an all-wise Providence has considerately
placed out of your reach." Without giving her time to reply, he continued:
"Give me your hand--no, you must"--as she hung back. "I'm not going to have
you risking this ledge again alone."
He extended one hand behind him, and, recognising the uselessness of
argument, Ann yielded and laid hers in it. Somehow she was not altogether
sorry to feel that friendly, human grip. In single file they made the
perilous return journey along the narrow track, emerging at length on to
safe ground. Ann withdrew her hand with a sigh of relief. It was good to
feel that they were out of danger at last.
"I think we shall have to hurry if we are to catch our train," she said,
keeping determinedly to the practical side of affairs. She felt she did not
want to discuss their adventure. It was too vividly impressed upon her mind
and had all too nearly ended in disaster. It seemed as though, the wings of
Death had brushed her as he passed by.
Tony pulled out his watch.
"Eight, as usual," he replied. "We shall have to sprint. And I've done you
out of your tea, too," he added remorsefully.
"Oh, that!" Ann dismissed the matter with a rather uncertain little laugh.
"You don't suppose I'm worrying about my tea, do you?"
He looked at her curiously.
"No, I don't suppose you are," he answered.
They set off at a good pace, but they had wandered much further afield
than they realised, and when at last the hotel, and the station which
practically adjoined it, came into sight, the train was already drawn up
at the platform, waiting to start. A shrill whistle cut the air warningly,
and instinctively Ann and Tony broke into a run. Tony was the first to
recognise the futility of the proceeding. He pulled up.
"We may as well save our breath," he observed laconically. And even as he
spoke the train, with a final shriek, moved out of the station.
Ann stood still, her eyes following it with an expression of blank dismay.
"Tony!" Her voice sounded a trifle breathless. "Do you know--have you
realised--that that's the last train?"
He nodded.
"And we've missed it."
He appeared completely unconcerned, and she turned on him with a flash of
impatience. His inconsequence annoyed her.
"Yes, we've missed it," she repeated. "How do you suppose we're going to
get back without a train to take us?"
Tony's soft, slate-coloured eyes surveyed her placidly beneath their long
lashes.
"I haven't the faintest idea," he acknowledged.
"Tony!" In spite of her indignation a quiver underlay Ann's voice. Her
nerves had been wrought up to a high pitch by the afternoon's events, and
she felt unequal to parrying Tony's customary banter.
Immediately his manner changed. When he spoke again it was with a quiet
confidence that reassured her completely.
"It's quite true," he said soberly. "I haven't an idea at the moment. But
I'll get you safely back to Montricheux this evening somehow. I promise
you, Ann. So don't worry."
The sun was hanging low in the sky by the time they reached the hotel,
and when he had established Ann in an easy chair and provided her with a
cigarette, together with a six-weeks'-old copy of a London magazine which
he unearthed from amongst a dusty pile of luridly illustrated handbooks on
Switzerland, Tony departed to make inquiries regarding their journey back
to Montricheux. He returned within a very short time, his face wearing an
unusual look of gravity, and for a moment he stood staring down at her
without speaking.
"I've got some bad news for you," he said at last, with obvious reluctance.
"I'm not able to keep my promise, Ann. We can't get back to Montricheux
to-night."
She glanced up incredulously.
"Can't get back?" she repeated. "Oh, but we must."
Tony shook his head.
"Can't be done," he answered. "It seems that infernal train is the only
means of getting up and down from here. You can't motor or drive. There's
no road."
The out-of-date magazine slid suddenly off Ann's knee and fell with a plop
on the floor.
"Are you serious?" she asked, still hardly able to believe him. "Do you
really mean we--we've got to stay the night here?"
She could read the answer to her question in the unmistakable concern which
was written on his face.
"Oh, but it's impossible!" she exclaimed in deep dismay. "We can't--we
can't stay here!" She sprang up, clasping and unclasping her hands
agitatedly. "Don't you _see_, Tony, that it's impossible?"
"We've no choice," he replied bluntly. "If there were any possible way of