Lianor, pale but firm, holding in her arms her little daughter, walked
beside him, heedless of the fatigue which oppressed her and made her
long to sink upon the sandy ground to rest.

Onward they went, never pausing to rest their tired feet until, as the
day was about to decline, they came to a deep waterfall, over which
they had to cross. No easy task, as the only means of doing so was by
an uneven path, made from a line of rocks, on either side of which the
boiling waters poured in terrific fury.

Tonza--who, now the captain had perished, placed himself at the head
of the crew--was the first to put his foot upon the crossing; then,
turning to the people, he said:

"Be careful, and not glance behind or down, or you will lose your
balance and fall."

Lianor, who, by her husband's wish, had given her child to one of the
men, followed closely behind Manuel, who held his boy in his arms.

Silently, without daring to murmur one word, the men walked bravely
onward.

They were nearly half way across.

Manuel had indeed touched firm ground, when a sudden cry from her
little girl made Lianor turn in affright to see what ailed her.

That move was fatal; the next instant she had lost her footing and
fallen into the dashing torrent.