"But, Valentine!"
"I insist upon it!—of what consequence is it if I die?" he added, with an expression of bitterness. "I am not beloved!" and turning towards Don Tadeo he said, "Courage my friend. I will restore your daughter or perish with her!" and whistling his dog—"Find her, Cæsar—find her." he said.
The noble animal uttered a plaintive howl, sniffed the air for an instant in all directions, then, after a minute's hesitation wagged his tail, turned towards his master, and dashed down the steep precipice.
[CHAPTER XLI.]
LA BARRANCA.
As soon as Valentine was suspended from the abrupt edge of the precipice, and obliged to ascertain carefully where to place his foot, his excitement was dispersed to give place to the cool and lucid determination of the brave man. The task he had undertaken was not an easy one. In his perilous descent his eyes became useless to him; his hands and feet were his only guides. Often did he feel the stone upon which he thought he had placed his foot firmly crumble as he began to trust his weight to it, and the branch he had seized break in his grasp.
But firm in his resolution, he kept descending, following as far as was possible the track of his dog, who at a short distance beneath him stopped, from time to time, to guide him by his yelpings.
Presently he stopped to take breath, still continuing to repeat to his dog the words he had never ceased to cry from the commencement of his descent—
"Find her, Cæsar, find her!"