He clung on desperately, his nails working into the hard stone. If he shouted, Dillwyn would hear him, would rescue him; but even at this last moment his hatred of Dillwyn held him dumb.
His fingers were growing tired—his nails were wearing away and loosening.... In a moment they would come to the edge, and then—-
Mad despair was in his heart. He clung desperately to the sill! A minute—could he hold on another minute? There was only a minute left. Was it so far to fall. Death rather than an appeal to his rival. So far the strength of the man held out.
But now his nails were loosening; his eyes, mad with fear, sought the ground below.
He looked—and looked—and all at once a fearful yell broke from him.
What was that thing down there—crouching—with that white cloth over her mouth? Had she come—was she waiting for him?
Great God! have mercy!
His fingers gave way. He fell with a sickening scream on to the hard cement below.
There was a hideous thud.
....