It was chancy work at best, with a possible stumble up against death at
every step. But life without Carette--worse still, life with Carette in
thrall to young Torode--would be worse to me than death, and so I take no
credit to myself for risking it for her. It was hers already, it did but
seek its own.

In daylight I could have gone almost straight to that cleft, steering my
course by the sea rocks I had noted from the window. But in the dark it was
different. I could only grope along in hope, with many a stop to wonder
where I had got to, and many a stumble and many a bruise. Stark darkness is
akin to blindness, and blindness in a strange land, and that a land of
rocks and chasms, is a vast perplexity. I wandered blindly and bruised
myself sorely, but suffered most from thought of the passing minutes, for
the minutes in which I might accomplish anything were numbered, and they
passed with no result.

I was half minded to give up search for the cleft, and steal down to the
houses and see what I could learn there. And yet I was drawn most strongly
to that cleft in the rock.

If only I could find it and satisfy myself!

My wandering thoughts and wandering body came to sudden and violent pause
at bottom of a chasm. I had stepped incautiously, and found myself a mass
of bruises on the rocks below. I felt sore all over, but I could stand and
I could stretch my arms, so no bones were broken.

I rubbed the sorest bruises into some approach to comfort, and wondered
where I had got to. I could feel rock walls on either side, and the rocks
below seemed roughly levelled. With a catch of the breath, which spelled a