the precipitous descent
without a sense of danger. Onslow's thoughts, however, had but one
object, to see Kate once, and for the last time. By a straight descent
of the mountain, leaping from terrace to terrace, it was possible for
him to reach the bottom before the carriages could traverse the winding
course of the road; and no sooner was the thought conceived than he
proceeded to execute it. It is difficult to convey to those who have
never seen these terraced flights of earth a true notion of the peril of
such an undertaking; but they who have beheld them will acknowledge
that little short of utter recklessness could dare it. Less leaping than
dropping from height to height, the slightest impulse will carry the
footsteps beyond the edge of the terrace, and then all self-control is
lost, and destruction, to every appearance, inevitable.

The youth whose nerves have been trained by the sports of fox-hunting
and deer-stalking, however, is seldom unprepared for sudden danger; and
George never hesitated when once the undertaking seemed practicable. By
sidelong leaps he descended the first three or four terraces well and
safely. Impressed with the risk of the exploit, he never turned his eyes
from the spot whereon he meant to alight, and measured every bound with
accuracy. Suddenly, however, his attention was caught by the postilion's
bugle sounding, several hundred feet below him, and, in a bend of the
road, he saw the dust left by the fast-descending carriage. Forgetful of
safety, of everything, save his object, he leaped at random, and with a
tremendous bound cleared one terrace completely, and alighted on the one
beneath it. The impulse drove him forwards, and ere he could recover, he
was on the very verge of the cliff. Even yet his presence of mind might
have rescued him, when the loose masonry gave way, and carried him
down with it. He fell forwards, and headlong; the force of the descent
carried him on, and now, half falling, half-struggling, he bounded from
height to height, till, shattered, maimed, and bleeding, he rolled, an
unconscious heap of clay, in the long grass of the valley.

Not fifty yards from where he lay, the carriages passed, and Kate even
leaned from the window to gaze upon the winding glen, little thinking
how terrible an interest that quiet scene was filled with. And so the
equipages held their speed, and pressed onward; while, with a faint
breathing, poor George lay, sleeping that dreamless slum