its hold and slide away into the darkness of the depths.

Now there was a strange convulsive shiver in every nerve--God have mercy,
the time was come! . . . No, not yet. At the very instant when it
seemed the panting flesh and blood would be shaken off by the granite
force repelling it, the fingers, like long antennae, touched horns of
rock jutting out from ledges on the third escarpment of the wall. Here
was the last point of the worst stage of the journey. Slowly, heavily,
the body drew up to the shelf of limestone, and crouched in an inert
bundle. There it lay for a long time.

While the long minutes went by, a voice kept calling up from below;
calling, calling, at first eagerly, then anxiously, then with terror.
By and by the bundle of life stirred, took shape, raised itself, and was
changed into a man again, a thinking, conscious being, who now understood
the meaning of this sound coming up from the earth below--or was it the
sea? A human voice had at last pierced the awful exhaustion of the
deadly labour, the peril and strife, which had numbed the brain while the
body, in its instinct for existence, still clung to the rocky ledges. It
had called the man back to earth--he was no longer a great animal, and
the rock a monster with skin and scales of stone.

"Ranulph! Maitre Ranulph! Ah, Ranulph!" called the voice.

Now he knew, and he answered down: "All right, all right, garche
Carterette!"

"Are you at the top?"

"No, but the rest is easy."