But the water would be colder still than the wind, and when once there she could never again be warm.

The chill of the night, and the blackness of the gulf before her, and the smooth rapid gurgle of the dark moving mass of waters beneath, were together more horrid to her imagination than even death itself.

Thrice she released herself from her backward pressure against the stone, in order that she might fall forward and have done with it, but as often she found herself returning involuntarily to the protection which still remained to her.

It seemed as though she could not fall.

Though she would have thought that another must have gone directly to destruction if placed where she was crouching--though she would have trembled with agony to see anyone perched in such danger--she appeared to be firm fixed.