Not least singularly, neither hill, chasm, nor precipice has a name.

On this account I will call the precipice the Cliff without a Name.* * See Preface What gave an added terror to its height was its blackness.

And upon this dark face the beating of ten thousand west winds had formed a kind of bloom, which had a visual effect not unlike that of a Hambro' grape.
Moreover it seemed to float off into the atmosphere, and inspire terror through the lungs.
'This piece of quartz, supporting my feet, is on the very nose of the cliff,' said Knight, breaking the silence after his rigid stoical meditation.

'Now what you are to do is this.

Clamber up my body till your feet are on my shoulders: when you are there you will, I think, be able to climb on to level ground.' 'What will you do ?' 'Wait whilst you run for assistance.' 'I ought to have done that in the first place, ought I not ?' 'I was in the act of slipping, and should have reached no stand-point without your weight, in all probability.