"To death!" said the priest, with his usual laugh. "Moriturus te salutat. Pardon!—that's Latin. At any rate, we may as well shake hands over it."
He held out his hand. She caught it in both of hers.
"God protect you!" she murmured, in a low voice, with quivering lips. "I shall be in despair till you come back. I shall never have the courage to fly. If you do not come back, I shall die in this tower."
"Child," said the priest, in a sad, sweet voice, "you are too despondent. I will come back—do not fear. Try and get rid of these gloomy thoughts. And now, once more, good-bye."
He pressed her hand and departed through the gap. He then began his descent, while the lady stood watching him with anxious eyes and despairing face till he had passed out of sight.
CHAPTER X. — HOW THE PRIEST BEARDS A LION IN HIS DEN.
The priest walked down the path into the chasm. It ran along a ledge, which at first was narrow, and quite concealed from view by dense masses of shrubbery, which grew all down the sloping sides of the abyss, covering the rock with a green mantle, and giving it an inviting aspect of richness and verdure. In such a place no one could have suspected the existence or even the possibility of any pathway; and this one must have been made with no little labor and skill, in the ancient days, when fighting bands had need to pass and repass.
After a few paces the path became more clearly defined. It was very steep, yet easy enough in the descent, and went down in a zigzag direction until it reached the bottom of the chasm. Here there was a brook whose babbling had been heard from above. In winter this was a fierce torrent, but now it was reduced to a slender and shallow stream. In its bed lay great bowlders of granite, which afforded stepping-stones to those who might wish to pass, and could be used at any time except when the water was swollen by mountain floods.