He stood rooted to the spot; and scarcely venturing to breathe, looked up with mingled fear and wonder.
Again the ashes slipped and rolled--very, very softly--again--and then again, as though they crumbled underneath the tread of a stealthy foot.
And now a figure was dimly visible; climbing very softly; and often stopping to look down; now it pursued its difficult way; and now it was hidden from the view again.
It emerged once more, into the shadowy and uncertain light--higher now, but not much, for the way was steep and toilsome, and its progress very slow.

What phantom of the brain did he pursue; and why did he look down so constantly?
He knew he was alone.

Surely his mind was not affected by that night's loss and agony.

He was not about to throw himself headlong from the summit of the tottering wall.

Solomon turned sick, and clasped his hands.