Presently Ernest saw beneath him some one approaching the bridge. His elevation, though considerable, was not so great but that he recognized the face and figure of Jack Lawless. It would take some time to reach him by descending the path. Ernest adopted a shorter way of warning him of danger, and, leaning over the crag, shouted loudly and repeatedly, “Do not try the bridge; it is not safe!” Jack could not help hearing the voice, and looked up;—his only reply was his own audacious smile. Ernest had warned him before of dangers of another kind: he had disregarded the warning then, he disregarded it now. As if he wished to show that he despised any caution given to him by one whom he hated, or, perhaps, led only by the foolish daring of a boy, he set his foot upon the rotten plank, and the next moment was precipitated into the water!
Ernest heard the sharp cry, saw the sudden fall; he knew that the wretched boy could not swim, and that in a few moments he must be hurried over the cataract, and dashed to pieces on the rocks below! Ernest never paused to consider how slight was the chance of saving him—how great that of losing his own life in the attempt; still less did he stop to recollect that the miserable Lawless was one who had treated him with insult and hate; he only saw that a fellow-creature was perishing before him, on the brink of destruction, and _unprepared_! If he descended by the path, his aid must come too late: Ernest took a shorter and more perilous way. Springing from the edge of the crag, swinging himself down by the shrubs that grew on the rock, clinging, leaping, clambering, falling, he descended from the height as never human being had descended before. Twice he dashed himself against the crags in his desperate descent; a thrill of sharp agony shot across his frame, but now it was impossible to stop. Down he plunged into the water, almost at the head of the fall, at the moment that the current was carrying Lawless over the edge. The left hand of Ernest still grasped the bough of a willow which he had caught as he first struck the stream; the right, hastily extended, grasped the hair of the drowning boy, and held him back from the fatal brink. But the fearful effort could not last, though it was an effort for life. Ernest felt both his strength and his senses failing him—the exhausted fingers must relax their clasp—both must perish! No! no! there is a loud shout heard—help is near, an eager hand is stretched out to save—a firm hold is laid on the arm of Fontonore—he is dragged to the shore in a senseless state, his livid hand still unconsciously wreathed in the locks of the boy whom he has saved!