“I have heard that there is a way down the rocks of the plateau at this end. When the plain is reached, it is an easy walk to the river. By dawn we should be there if—if only—thou hast the strength.” “I shall have the strength. Did I not slay this man?” Fidá’s pride was touched; and perhaps, after all, just this little, human vanity, decided them. “I have the strength. But thou, most beautiful, canst thou endure this long and painful journey now? Faintest thou not for food? Will my arm be enough to uphold thee by the way?” “If I fall, Fidá, thou shalt kill me where I lie and thyself proceed. Nay, I shall not fail thee. Come. Let us seek the path down the cliff.” There was a moment or two of delay while the knife was plucked from the body of the dead man, and Ahalya removed a part of her hampering drapery. Then, after one solemn embrace, they started. It was the time of the month when there was no moon; but the stars, nowhere in the world more brilliant than here, shed a faint, steady light over the quiet earth. The descent of the great cliff was begun at a point almost immediately behind the water-palace; and they soon found themselves occupied enough to forget the tragic circumstances of the journey, as they picked a fearful and uncertain way from point to point, from rock to rock, down, through the night, from high Mandu to the plain. What chance it was that stayed their destruction, they scarcely knew. But certainly it was a miracle that, in the first five minutes, they were not dashed headlong down the whole depth. Fidá’s knees shook under him. Had it not been for Ahalya, he would have ended all just here, swiftly. But, with an effort that he felt to be the final summing up of all his forces, he went on, the woman following uncomplainingly, fleetly, silently. It lacked an hour to midnight when they reached the plain, and, looking back and up, wondered at what they had accomplished. Now they threw themselves upon the ground, for a few moments of necessary recuperation. Ahalya was drooping with sleep, which Fidá dared not permit her to indulge. He realized, vaguely, that the unnatural strength on which he was enduring must break soon; and by the time it was gone, they must be at the river-bank—the borderland of eternity. So, after a few moments, he bent over her, whispering: “Up, beloved—up, and on! We must reach the river by dawn. There, my Ahalya, thou mayest sleep—we may both sleep—long and undisturbed.” And Ahalya, heeding him in all things, rose and put her hand in his, and they passed into the night again, over the plain, toward the distant river. * * * * *