She leant forward and without hesitation swung out, suspended by one arm, into the darkness.

He stooped, then knelt, and finally lay face downwards on the wall, lowering her all the while.
"Go!" he whispered.

And she dropped lightly on to the snow-slope beaten by the wind into an icy buttress against the wall.

A moment later he dropped beside her.
"My father is at the bridge," he said, as they scrambled down to the narrow path that runs along the river bank beneath the walls.

"He is waiting for us there with a carriage and a priest." Juanita stopped short.
"Oh, I wish I had not come!" she exclaimed.
"You can go back," said Marcos slowly; "it is not too late.