She knew then that he was coming down, hand over hand, through that long, dangerous stretch of darkness.

Elsewhere in this narrative, it has been stated that the cliff reared itself sheer to the height of three hundred and fifty feet directly behind the chateau.
At the summit of this great wall, a shelving ledge projected over the hanging garden; a rope dangling from this ledge would fall into the garden not far from the edge nearest the cliff.

The summit of the cliff could be gained only by traversing the mountain slope from the other side; it was impossible to scale it from the floor of the valley which it bounded.

A wide table-land extended back from the ledge for several hundred yards and then broke into the sharp, steep incline to the summit of the mountain.

This table-land was covered by large, stout trees, thickly grown.
The rope was undoubtedly attached to the trunk of a sturdy tree at the brow of the cliff.
She could look no longer; it seemed hours since he started from the top.
Every heart-beat brought him nearer to safety, but would he hold out?
Any instant might bring him crashing to her feet--dead, after all that he may have lived through during that awful night.
At last she heard his heavy panting, groaning almost; the creaking and straining of the rope, the scraping of his hands and body.