It was a trance of mutual meeting emotion such as they had not yet known. In that one moment, when he walked the narrow edge of that precipice and when she had seen the precipice for the horror it was, she learned more than in all her life before. And he, in the moments that followed, knew, beyond possibility of mistake or misunderstanding, what it was that she had learned. If only they could have walked straight out of that quarry into the world of stream and mountain, the world where you are only two--but the foreman was there, walking and talking, and at last stopping and saying: "This is where it happened." And they came out of their dream to find themselves close to the slate cliff at whose base lay great blocks of slate newly fallen, and to see the flat slate flakes at their feet, brown and wet. "Where what happened?" Edward asked, vaguely. "What I've been telling you about," said the foreman, aggrieved. "Where one of our workmen was killed just now, blasting; that's his blood what you're standing in," said he. Then, indeed, she clung to his arm. "Take me away," she whispered. "Oh, why does everything turn horrible like this? It's like a horrible dream. Let's get away. Give him something and let's get away." "It's not my fault," said the foreman, in very injured tones. "She said she'd like to see it. I wondered, at the time, but there's no accounting for females, is there?" They got away from the place--out of the quarry and into the road. They found the stream that flows from the waterfall under Snowdon, and the flagged path that lies beside the stream. They passed along it, she still clinging to his arm. Presently a smooth, mossy rock invited them, and before either of them knew it they were seated there, side by side, and she was weeping on his shoulder. He did not need her whispered words that broke a long silence--"Thank God, you're safe"--to tell him what he had to think, nor what, from that hour, he had to live for. "But, oh," she said at last, lifting her face from his coat-sleeve, "what a horrible day! We've struck a streak of horrible things. Let's go back to the south, where things aren't like this." "We'll go to-night, if you like," he said. "Yes," she answered, eagerly, "yes. But this isn't the end. I feel there's something more coming--I felt it at Chester. It wasn't only that thing I couldn't tell you--something's going to happen to separate us." "Nothing can--but you," he said, hugging to his heart all that her admission implied. "I feel that something will," she said. And he, for all that he laughed at her fears and her predictions, with pride and joy swelling in his heart till they almost broke the resolution of quiescence, of waiting, of submitting his will to her will, yet felt in those deep caves that lie behind the heart, behind the soul, behind the mind of man, the winds of coming misfortune blow chilly. It was no surprise to either of them to find at the hotel a telegram for Mrs. Basingstoke: