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Elizabeth saw it lift against the pale, exposed earth below the brink, moving upward where no hand could reach it. It curled across the taut length, turned through its own loop, and drew itself tight. The joined rope jerked once against her hands. Then the strain settled upon the oak behind her.

Below, Mr. Darcy looked up.

His eyes followed the last movement of the short end as it tightened into the knot. He looked from it to Elizabeth’s two hands, still closed upon the other length.

She had no time to be frightened of what he had seen.

“Can you find the stone now?” she asked.

He looked down. His boot moved to the left and rested upon something she could not see.

“Yes.”

“Wait. I must make certain it holds.”

Elizabeth eased her grip. The rope remained taut. She turned toward the oak; the length around its trunk did not slip. When she looked back, Mr. Darcy was still watching her.

“Your hands were here,” he said.

“Yes.”

The admission cost less than she expected. She wanted him out of the water’s reach. Everything else could wait.

“I cannot explain it now. Please tell me where you can put your foot.”

He drew a breath and looked at the bank again.

“There is a root above the stone. If I can reach it, I can get to the left of the break. The slope is less steep there.”

“Then try that way. Slowly.”

He pulled against the rope with his sound hand and raised one foot. Elizabeth watched his boot find the stone, then the root above it. He stopped, breathing hard, and leaned his shoulder against the bank.

She had wanted the rope to save him immediately. Instead there was still every inch of the climb to manage, every place where the soil might crumble or his hand fail him. She kept her own hands on the rope, though the tree now bore its weight, and spoke when he looked up, so he would know she remained.

“The knot is holding.”

He nodded.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

Foster came down the path carrying two stakes beneath one arm. He dropped them beside his tools when he saw the empty approach.

“Where is he?”

“Below me. The rope is fastened round the oak. Keep back from this edge.”

The groundsman went to the higher ground on her left and lowered himself onto his knees. He could see Mr. Darcy from there without approaching the fresh break.

“Come this way, sir. Another foot to your left. There is stone under that moss.”

Darcy moved. Elizabeth felt a tremor pass along the rope, then settle.

Foster stretched out an arm. “Give me your wrist when you reach.”

“He has cut his right hand,” Elizabeth said.

“Then the left, sir. Keep the rope until I have you.”