he efforts of the horse
to pick himself up on the road above. A stronger jerk lifted him to the
edge of the road, and Marcos, hanging there for an instant, found an
insecure foothold for one foot in the root of an overhanging bush. But
the horse was nearer to the edge now; he was half over and might fall at
any moment.

It flashed through Marcos' mind that he must live at all costs. There was
no one to care for Juanita in the troubled times that were coming.
Juanita was his only thought. And he fought for his life with skill and
that quickness of perception which is the real secret of success in human
affairs.

He jerked on the bridle with all the strength of his iron muscle; jerked
himself up on the road and the horse over into the gorge. As the horse
fell it lashed out wildly; its hind foot touched the back of Marcos' head
and seemed almost to break his spine.

He rolled over on his side, choking. He did not lose consciousness at
once, but knew that oblivion was coming. Perro, the dog, had been
excitedly skirmishing round, keeping clear of the horse's heels and doing
little else. He now looked over after the horse and Marcos saw his lean
body outlined against the sky. He had let the reins go and found that he
was grasping a stone in his bleeding fingers instead. He threw the stone
at Perro and hit him. The surprised yelp was the last sound he heard as
the night of unconsciousness closed over him.

Juanita had gone to bed very tired. She slept the profound sleep of youth
and physical fatigue for an hour. In the ordinary way she would have
slept thus all night. But at midnight she found herself wide-awake again.
The first fatigue of the body was past, and the busy mind asserted its
rights again. She was not conscious of having anything to think about.
But the moment she was half awake the thoughts leapt into her mind and
awoke her completely.

She remembered again the startling silence of Torre Garda, which was in
some degree intensified by the low voice of the river. She lifted her
head to listen and caught her breath at the instant realisation of the
sound quite near at hand. It was the patter of feet on the terrace below
her window. Perro had returned. Marcos must therefore be back again. She
dropped her head sleepily on the pillow, expecting to hear some sound in
the house indicative of Marcos' return, but not intending to lie awake to
listen for it.

She did not fall asleep again, however, and Perro continue