Its edge dropped into darkness.

Within reach, leaves rustled from the summit of a tree rooted somewhere in the chasm.

The blackness below was vast and to be measured only by the memory of that upward course.

Gemmed by its lighted hamlets the fair plain of the island lay, with Med and Melita glowing like lamps to the huge dusk.
"St.George," said Amory soberly, "if it's all true--if these people do understand what the world doesn't know anything about--" "Yes," said St.George.
"It makes a man feel--" "Yes," said St.George, "it does." This, they afterward remembered, was all that they said on the ascent.

One wonders if two, being met among the "strengthless tribes of the dead," would find much more to say.
Then they went on, scaling that invisible way, with the twinkling feet of the carriers drawing upward like a thread of thin gold which they were to climb.