Page:Maud Howe - A Newport Aquarelle.djvu/131

 She crept nearer to the edge, and, still clasping the tree with both arms, leaned over the rushing torrent. How easy it would be! One little movement and all would be over. The slender ringers closely clasped about the tree were all that steadied her. If she should suddenly unlace them the movement would throw her off her balance—and the great riddle would be solved. Why should she not? Was it all a jest? Was she in earnest or in jest? She did not know.

She was fascinated by the strange thought, and stood swaying over the verge of the dizzy height, intoxicated with the danger. In one instant she could regain a firm footing on the ledge, or—what was the trembling she felt beneath her feet? Was there an earthquake? Ah! with a wild cry, it was the rock under her feet that shook. It had become loosened by her weight on its extreme edge, it swayed one instant, and in the next must be dashed into the boiling caldron below—and she?

This was her reward for trifling with the