His smile irritated her, and she turned and went on, choosing a difficult and uncertain foothold with each step. A little further above, the mild eminence which had lured her on suddenly reared a vertical surface, as high again as the distance she had climbed. She looked, aghast, her foot slipped and she went sliding down on a fall of loose slate. Crayven caught her, but he, too, slipped down a dozen feet, and they just saved themselves, clinging flat on the treacherous surface, from a bad fall. They had no alpenstocks, for the climb, except for this deviation of Teresa's, was an easy one. Crayven cautiously lifted himself, found a firm point of rock, and helped Teresa to her feet.
"Give me your hand, and come down," he said sharply.
"Oh, please, let me do it by myself! I can get down—and I'm afraid of making you slip" she said, rather frightened.
"Give me your hand!"
She obeyed. The descent was much more difficult than the climb. Looking down, the height was a dizzy one, and each step had to be taken with slow care, Crayven half-supporting her. Even so she reached the bottom with her dress stained with dirt and grass, her arms stained, her hands scratched by the rough stones. She sank down on the ground, her head swimming.
