Black against it, perched high upon a pile of blocks, I recognized the long, lean outline of Ventnor, rifle in hand, gazing intently up the ancient road whose windings were plain through the opening.

He had not heard us.
"Martin," called Ruth softly.
He turned.

A shaft of light from a crevice in the gap's edge struck his face, flashing it out from the semidarkness of the corner in which he crouched.

I looked into the quiet gray eyes, upon the keen face.
"Goodwin!" he shouted, tumbling down from his perch, shaking me by the shoulders.

"If I had been in the way of praying--you're the man I'd have prayed for.