"But we can't turn back, Bill."
"No; we can't turn back."
He reached out his hand and grasped mine. And then, without another word, we started.
I had known some critical, terrible, horrible scenes in my life; but never anything like the suspense and mystery of those moments that now succeeded. What were we to see? What were we to meet? And, horror of horrors, it would be in that place where the bridge narrowed to something like a mere ribbon—the frightful depths yawning on each side, almost at our very feet.
Well, at last we reached it. My head began to swim, so terrible was the place, and I had to stop and get a grip on my nerves. Rhodes too paused, and for some moments we stood there, so near to safety and yet—the mockery of it—closer than ever to mystery and danger and perhaps horror unnamable.
"Now for it, Bill!" said Rhodes. "Keep your revolver ready for instant action!"
And we started the ascent across.
The place immediately before us was so narrow that we could not think of walking side by side. Rhodes was leading. And then it came—when we had taken eight or ten steps, when we had reached the most dangerous spot on that ribbon of rock.
Of a sudden a dark figure, straining at leash, moved out from behind one of the limestone pillars, and two eyes shone as with a greenish fire, and the strong rays of our lights were flashed back in the gleam of teeth. And, behind that demoniac shape, a tall figure appeared, a figure clothed in white, the eyes wide and blazing, the face white as snow and framed in gleaming gold, which fell down in masses behind the shoulders—a figure majestic, one indescribably lovely and dreadful.
It was the angel and her demon!