loss
of time. But he did not appear. "Castro," I cried in an undertone. The
leaves rustled; Seraphina sat up.

We were pleased to be with each other in an inexpugnable retreat, to
hear our voices untinged by anxiety; and, going to the outer end of the
short passage, we breathed with joy the pure air. The tops of the bushes
below glittered with drops of rain, the sky was clear, and the sun, to
us invisible, struck full upon the face of the rock on the other side
of the ravine. A great bird soared, all was light and silence, and we
forgot Castro for a time. I threw my legs over the sill, and sitting on
the stone surveyed the cornice. The bright day robbed the ravine of half
its horrors. The path was rather broad, though there was a frightful
sheer drop of ninety feet at least. Two men could have walked abreast on
that ledge, and with a hand-rail one would have thought nothing of it.
The most dangerous part yet was at the entrance, where it ended in a
rounded projection not quite so wide as the rest. I bantered Seraphina
as to going out. She said she was ready. She would shut her eyes, and
take hold of my hand. Englishmen, she had heard, were good at climbing.
Their heads were steady. Then we became silent. There were no signs
of Castro. Where could he have gone? What could he be doing? It was
unimaginable.

I grew nervous with anxiety at last, and begged Seraphina to go in.
She obeyed without a word, and I remained just within the entrance,
watching. I had no means to tell the time, but it seemed to me that an
hour or two passed. Hadn't we better, I thought, start at once on foot
for the _hacienda?_ I did not know the way, but by descending the ravine
again to the sea, and walking along the bank of the little river, I was
sure to reach it. The objection to this was that we should miss Castro.
Hang Castro! And yet there was something mysterious and threatening in
his absence. Could he--could he have stepped out for some reason in the
dark, perhaps, and tumbled off the cornice? I had seen no traces of a
slip--there would be none on the rock; the twigs of the growth below the
edge would spring back, of course. But why should he fall? The footing
was good--however, a sudden attack of vertigo.... I tried to look at it
from every side. He was not a somnambulist, as far as I knew. And there
was nothing to eat--I felt hungry already--or drink. The want of water
would drive us out very soon to the spring bubbling out at the head