Again a cry of mortal pain was heard!
The throng pressed up, and round[408] a jutting point,
Till came in view a level breadth[409] of rock
That shelved and overhung a sheer descent[410]
Of awful depth. There, like a sculptor’s work
On pedestal of stone, young Henri Clair
Sat rigid on his steed and pointed down[411]
The deep abyss. In horror peered they all
Below, where lay the object of his gaze—
The white, the lifeless form of Maud.