Here at least I need not cast down my eyes, for I am alone with my God, and in his presence I feel I need not be ashamed." Thus meditating, he pressed on through a narrow space, which divided two huge masses of porphyry, but suddenly he stood still, for he heard the barking of a dog in his immediate neighborhood, and a few minutes after a greyhound rushed towards him--now indignantly flying at him, and now timidly retreating--while it carefully held up one leg, which was wrapped in a many-colored bandage.
Paulus recollected the enquiry which Phoebicius lead addressed to the Amalekite as to a greyhound, and he immediately guessed that the Gaul's runaway wife must be not far off.

His heart beat more quickly, and although he did not immediately know how he should meet the disloyal wife, he felt himself impelled to go to seek her.

Without delay he followed the way by which the dog had come, and soon caught sight of a light garment, which vanished behind the nearest rock, and then behind a farther, and yet a farther one.
At last he came up with the fleeing woman.

She was standing at the very edge of a precipice, that rose high and sheer above the abyss--a strange and fearful sight; her long golden hair had got tangled, and waved over her bosom and shoulders, half plaited, half undone.

Only one foot was firm on the ground; the other-with its thin sandal all torn by the sharp stones--was stretched out over the abyss, ready for the next fatal step.
At the next instant she might disappear over the cliff, for though with her right hand she held on to a point of rock, Paulus could see that the boulder had no connection with the rock on which she stood, and rocked too and fro.
She hung over the edge of the chasm like a sleepwalker, or a possessed creature pursued by demons, and at the same time her eyes glistened with such wild madness, and she drew her breath with such feverish rapidity that Paulus, who had come close up to her, involuntarily drew back.