"Yes, I presume so. Suppose we approach the edge cautiously and look down."
There is a fatal fascination about danger. Just as the moth hovers persistently about the flame, to which in the end he falls a victim, so we are disposed to draw near dangers at which we shudder. We like to see it for ourselves, and, shuddering, to say: "Suppose I should fall in."
Our young hero was of a daring disposition. He had never been timid or nervous, inheriting his father's physical traits, not his mother's. So Sharpley's proposal struck him favorably, being an appeal to his courage.
"I should like to look over," he said.
As he spoke he drew near the fatal brink, not observing that his companion was not at his side, but just behind him.
"Now for it!" thought Sharpley, his breath coming thick and fast.
One push from behind, and Frank was over the ledge, falling—falling—falling.
There was one scream of terror, and Sharpley found himself alone upon the cliff.