Then she sent out her voice for help, and
there was agony, terror, and heart-break in her cry.
Realizing the futility of this on the lonely mountainside, she soon
ceased, and again sought, with almost desperate energy, to restore
him, crying and moaning meanwhile in a way that smote his heart. At
last she threw herself on his breast with the bitter cry:
"Oh, Graydon, Graydon, are you dying? Will you _never_ know? Oh, my
heart's true love, shall I never have a chance to tell you that it
was you I loved--you only! It was for you I went away alone to die, I
feared. For you I struggled back to life, and toiled and prayed that
I might be your fair ideal; and now you may never know. Graydon,
Graydon, I would give you the very blood out of my heart--O God, I
can't restore him!" she moaned, in a choking voice, and then he knew
from her dead weight upon his breast that she had fainted.
This mental anguish and the effort he put forth to respond to
these words caused great beads of sweat to start out upon his face.
Suddenly, as if a giant hand was lifted, the effects of the shock
resulting from his fall passed away. He opened his eyes, and there was
Madge, with her face buried upon his breast, in brief oblivion from
fears that threatened to crush at once hope and life.
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