Well, you want to go down," he continued, tightening his grip and showing his teeth as he thrust Nic forward.

"There, I have only to give you one push and down you go; but you wouldn't see anything when you got down." "Because it would kill me," said Nic quietly.
"Yes; and your old man would set us all to hunt for you, and one of the blacks would make you out at last, lying right at the bottom." "And fetch me up," said Nic, without flinching, but with the cold perspiration standing out on his forehead and in the palms of his hands.
"No, even they couldn't get down to you; and your father would come every day with his glass to watch you till the birds and the ants had left nothing but your bones to whiten there, as the bones of bullocks have before now.

Well, shall I throw you down?
You asked me to show you the way." "No, thank you," said Nic quietly.
"Why shouldn't I ?" "Because you, a strong man, wouldn't be so murderous.

And because I never did you any harm." "No," said the man, drawing him back from the brink, and looking him full in the eyes, with the half-savage glare passing out of his own to give place to an air of profound melancholy.

"No, I wouldn't do you any harm, sir.