"Kingsley, Florence Morse - At the End Of His Rope" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kingsley Florence Morse)

day's adventures, closing with a statement of the problem which she had spent
six unhappy hours in trying to solve.
"Don't you see," she said in a shaking voice, "how utterly improbable it is that
we shall ever reach point A?"
John Gearing had smiled more than once during this recital; he also frowned as
he stared anxiously into the black depths of the forest which shut them in like
a wall.
"Miss Terrill," he said gravely, "your conclusions are undeniably logical and
unpleasantly correct— from your premises; but luckily there, are other factors
which you have overlooked, and which must be introduced. One is, that the guides
are sure to beat the woods for miles about point A. There is, therefore, not the
slightest danger of our becoming either variable or permanent radii of point B.
The only question to be considered at present is, shall we make any immediate
attempt to solve the problem ourselves? You are already weary, and—"
"You might attach a second spool at point B." interrupted the girl, knitting her
pretty brows; "our chances would then be multiplied by two."
"But I object to the preliminary division," said John Gearing decidedly; "it
simply isn't to be thought of. The darkness has closed in upon us at an
unconscionably early hour," he went on rapidly. "I can not understand it,
unless, to add to our perplexity, it is about to—" A drop of water which landed
squarely on the tip of his nose explained the phenomenon.
"It is raining," observed Miss Terrill with the calmness of despair. "But of
course that was to be expected. We will go on," she added firmly. "No— I am not
at all tired, and I am quite accustomed to the woods." This last with a superb
gesture of refusal as her victim offered his arm.
Two minutes later her foot slipped on a treacherous log, and with a cry she
plunged forward into the darkness.
John Gearing was at her side in an instant. "My poor little girl," he murmured,
lifting her with all possible gentleness, "are you much hurt?"
"At all events I have not sprained my ankle," said the girl with a faint laugh.
"But I slipped once before to-day, and—"
John Gearing groaned. "I shall never forgive myself for my outrageous folly!" he
declared savagely, and quite involuntarily he tightened the clasp of his strong
arms.
Miss Terrill laughed again in spite of herself. "Put me down, please, Mr.
Gearing," she said. "If you should change most of the pronouns in your last
statement to the second person, it would be quite what I deserve. I fear I shall
have to stop where I am; but you must go on. Please go at once before it gets
any darker."
"And leave you here alone?"
"Yes."
By way of answer, John Gearing hastily divested himself of his thick
shooting-jacket and wrapped it about his companion with an authoritative
firmness which admitted of no question.
"I have four matches— and a half, to be exact," he said, after a careful search
through his various pockets. "Luckily it hasn't rained long enough to wet the
ground; if the fates aren't too unkind we'll have a camp-fire inside of five
minutes."
A flash, a sizzle, an impatient exclamation announced that match number one had
weakly succumbed to the untoward influences of the place and hour. Two, three,