“You 'll have to follow me here, Mr. Hankes,” broke in Sybella; “the pathway round this cliff only admits one at a time. Keep close to the rock, and if your head be not steady, don't look down.”
“Good heavens! we are not going round that precipice!” cried Hankes, in a voice of the wildest terror.
“My servant will lead your horse, if you prefer it,” said she, without answering his question; “and mind your footing, for the moss is often slippery with the spray.”
Sybella made a signal with her whip to the groom, who was now close behind, and then, without awaiting for more, moved on. Hankes watched her as she descended the little slope to the base of a large rock, around which the path wound itself on the very verge of an immense precipice. Even from where he now stood the sea could be seen surging and booming hundreds of feet below; and although the night was calm and still, the ever-restless waves beat heavily against the rocks, and sent masses of froth and foam high into the air. He saw her till she turned the angle of the path, and then she was lost to his view.
“I don't think I have head for it. I 'm not used to this kind of thing,” said Hankes, in a voice of helpless despondency to the old groom, who now stood awaiting him to dismount “Is there much danger? Is it as bad as it looks?”
“'Tis worse when you get round the rock there,” said the groom, “for it's always going down you are, steeper than the roof of a house, with a shingle footing, and sloping outwards.”
“I'll not go a step; I 'll not venture,” broke in Hankes.
“Indeed, I wouldn't advise your honor,” said the man, in a tone too sincere to be deemed sarcastic.
“I know my head could n't bear it,” said he, with the imploring accents of one who entreated a contradiction. But the old groom, too fully convinced of the sentiment to utter a word against it, was now only thinking of following his mistress.