"Hurry, hurry, Ranulph. If they should come before you reach the top!"

"I'll soon be there."

"Are you hurt, Ranulph?"

"No, but my fingers are in rags. I am going now. A bi'tot, Carterette!"

"Ranulph!"

"'Sh, 'sh, do not speak. I am starting."

There was silence for what seemed hours to the girl below. Foot by foot
the man climbed on, no less cautious because the ascent was easier, for
he was now weaker. But he was on the monster's neck now, and soon he
should set his heel on it: he was not to be shaken off.

At last the victorious moment came. Over a jutting ledge he drew himself
up by sheer strength and the rubber-like grip of his lacerated fingers,
and now he lay flat and breathless upon the ground.

How soft and cool it was! This was long sweet grass touching his face,
making a couch like down for the battered, wearied body. Surely such
travail had been more than mortal. And what was this vast fluttering
over his head, this million-voiced discord round him, like the buffetings
and cries of spirits welcoming another to their torment? He raised his
head and laughed in triumph. These were the cormorants, gulls, and
gannets on the Perch Rock.