Only a few feet from the fatal ledge, against the roots of a buckeye, with HER shawl thrown over him, lay the wounded man.
Key started back.

It was Collinson! His head and shoulders seemed uninjured; but as Key lifted the shawl, he saw that the long, lank figure appeared to melt away below the waist into a mass of shapeless and dirty rags.

Key hurriedly replaced the shawl, and, bending over him, listened to his hurried respiration and the beating of his heart.

Then he pressed a drinking-flask to his lips.

The spirit seemed to revive him; he slowly opened his eyes.
They fell upon Key with quick recognition.