Lady Dalrymple and Mrs. Willoughby, with her eyes staring from her
pallid face, when she saw the stranger turn and look up. He took off
his hat, and waved it two or three times. Then he beckoned to the
drivers. Then he sat down and prepared to let himself over the
precipice. This incident inspired hope. It did more. It gave a
moment's confidence, and the certainty that all was not lost. They
looked at each other, and wept tears of joy. But soon that momentary
hope vanished, and uncertainty returned. After all, what did the
stranger's gesture mean? He might have seen her--but how? He might
reach her, but would she be safe from harm? Could such a thing be
hoped for? Would she not, rather, be all marred and mutilated? Dared
they hope for any thing better? They dared not. And now they sat once
more, as sad as before, and their short-lived gleam of hope faded
away.

They saw the stranger go over the precipice.

Then he disappeared.

The rope was let out for a little distance, and then stopped. Then
more went out. Then it stopped again.

The rope now lay quite loose. There was no tension.

What was the meaning of this? Was he clinging to the side of the
precipice? Impossible. It looked rather as though he had reached some
place where he was free to move, and had no further need of descent.
And it seemed as though the precipice might not be so deep or so
fearful as they had supposed.