"I thought you were a mountaineer!"
"I am. That's why I know that a path is better than an apparently easy short-cut—especially for a woman. Suppose you sprain your ankle on that slate? I should have to carry you all the way back to Anthemoz. Do you realise how lonely it is here? There isn't a human being within two miles of us." He came close to her. His eyes still burned with an excited fire.
"Don't be foolish," he said in a low voice. "I shall go where you lead. I'm not your lord and master."
"I have none—never had," said Teresa firmly. "Come."
She hurried on to the beginning of the sharp ascent, and began to climb, catching at tufts of coarse grass—to help herself up. Soon there was no more grass—nothing but loose stones and crumbling slate. But she went on, with determination and a sense of joy in her recklessness. What had looked like an easy ascent now towered above her, straight up, a wall of rock covered with treacherous debris. She turned, bracing herself carefully, and looked down. Crayven was just behind her. Over his shoulder she caught a sudden glimpse of the abyss that seemed to open below them—there seemed nothing to stop the fall—and the circle of mountain-peaks swam before her eyes.
"Dizzy? Want to come down?" he enquired.
