scrambled down the rocks at the risk of his life saved him from a
watery grave. His resuscitation must have been painful, judging by his
agonizing groans, but the ambulance officers had been summoned and
the unfortunate sufferer was cared for at the hospital.

The incident served to make us more careful, and at the narrowest
place in the path we used the utmost caution, for the rocks below rose
up like dragon's teeth, ready to impale us if we should make a false
step--and that white drawn face haunted us like a specter.

The path along the ocean is a narrow and tortuous one, running about
halfway between the water and the top of the cliff. Great granite
rocks rise up like giants to dispute our passage, but by numerous
twistings the path skirts their base, or wriggles snakelike over the
top.

[Illustration: THEY HAVE STOOD THE STORMS OF CENTURIES]

Hundreds of feet below, the waves come rolling in from the ocean,
dashing with a giant's fury against the rocks, and shattering
themselves into white spray that is tossed high in air, like thousands
of white fingers seeking to clutch the granite barrier. Then receding
like a roaring lion baffled of its prey, it gathers new strength, and
flings itself again and again against the rocks, like a gladiator
striving for the mastery.

Here, in a massive pile of rocks, is a deep, dark cavern, evidently
worn by the action of the waves that have pounded against it for
centuries. Looking out upon the ocean, we see a wave mightier than all
the others sweeping onward, as if challenging the rocks to mortal