By now Gervase had shaken off his lethargy. One who has lain weeks in a prison and has composed himself for death can hardly be expected to take occasion by the hand. But the fine and keen air of the morning and the almost miraculous chance of life that had been given him had done much to restore his numbed faculties. A resolve had already been born in his heart to sell his life very dearly. In the last resort he was determined to attempt the almost impassable face of the cliff. But there was his brave companion. She seemed to read his mind. And reading it she summoned the courage of despair. “If there is no other way we will crawl down the rock,” she said. “It would be death, mistress.” The clear eyes that were so unafraid shone like stars through the gray light. “I do not fear death,” she said in a low voice. “Rather death than the whip or a dungeon underground.” Dismally he realized that there was no answer to this argument. “We will go together, mistress, wherever it be--unless--” a deadly chill corroded the young man’s veins--“I walk back to my prison.” “No, no,” said his deliverer tensely. “Anything rather than that.” Every minute it was growing lighter. They crouched under the scanty cover of the laurel-bushes, not knowing which way to turn or what to do. All their senses were strung to catch the alarm they were ever expecting to hear. But the miracle still endured; the alarm was not yet given. Yet it was impossible that it could be much longer delayed. In despair they crept farther along the wall. They must choose a place for the grisly descent, yet even as they looked far down over the parapet of the wall they hardly knew how to face such a hideous alternative. “It is certain death for us both,” said Gervase. “It is better that I returned to my prison if you are sure there is no other way of escape.” “Do you fear the rock?” The firm voice was low and calm. “For you I fear it, mistress.” The starlike eyes pierced him with their light. “For myself,” said Anne, “I fear only to be left alive.” Very deliberately she took the dagger from her belt. “Wherever you go,” she said as she offered it by the hilt, “I would have you plunge this into my heart rather than you left me.” His cold fingers trembled on the hilt of the dagger, but even as they touched it he knew that such a deed was far beyond his present strength. “Better the rock than that,” he said. “Yes, better the rock.” Such a steadfast courage was like wine in his veins. Suddenly he flung his arms about her and folded her to him. One slow kiss was pressed upon the upturned mouth. Certain death awaited them, and they were young to die, but there was now no way of life. And at least by God’s mercy they had known one high moment which paid for all.