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