His whole body seemed suddenly to shrink and fall in upon itself.
"The torture! The terrible torture!" he shrieked aloud, and ran swiftly from the clutches of the men who had held him.

Between the path and the verge of the cliff from which he was suffered to cast himself there stretched some thirty or forty yards of fine green turf.

The old man ran as though at a village fair for some wager of slippery pig's tail, but all the time the face of him was like Death and Hell following after.
At the cliff's edge he leaped high into the air, and went headlong down, to our watching eyes as slowly as if he had sunk through water.

None of us who were on the path saw more of him.

But Jorian craned over, regarding the man's end calmly and even critically.