She found in Harry a perfect audience.
Her experience had been much the same as our own. She, too, had
fallen down the unseen precipice into the torrent beneath.
She asserted that she had been carried along by its force
scarcely more than a quarter of an hour, and had been violently
thrown upon a ledge of rock. It was evident that this must have
been long before the stream reached the lake where Harry and I
had found each other, for we had been in the water hardly short
of an hour.
She had been found on the ledge by our hairy friends, who had
carried her on their backs for many hours. I remembered the
sensations of Harry and myself, who were men, and together, and
gave a shudder of sympathy as Desiree described her own horror
and fear, and her one attempt to escape.
Still the brutes had shown her no great violence, evidently
recognizing the preciousness of their burden. They had carried
her as gently as possible, but had absolutely refused to allow
her to walk. At regular intervals they gave her an opportunity to
rest, and food and water.
"Dried fish?" I asked hopefully.
Desiree nodded, with a most expressive grimace, and Harry burst
into laughter.
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