Albrecht went next, and looked up to Cynthia.

He said: ‘Come, my dear.’

She felt a shiver of fear as she dropped. Her nerves were jarred by the continuous roar of water. As she reached the ledge, a stone rolled under her foot, and she began to fall forward. Albrecht took her and supported her.

Her slip had precipitated a general movement in the loose rubble; there was the noise of small rocks sliding, and a scatter of plops and splashes as they finished up in the river. They found themselves lit up as Henry turned around to look in their direction.

He called, in a low urgent voice: ‘What’s the matter?’

Albrecht replied: ‘Cynthia slipped. She is all right.’

‘We must go carefully,’ Henry said. ‘Any slip could be serious. Put your feet down as warily as possible. There are loose stones all the way along.’

Darkness came around them again as he turned away.

Cynthia whispered savagely: ‘Does he think I slipped on purpose?’

‘You are all right, are you not?’ Albrecht asked her. ‘You did not hurt your ankle?’

‘Kiss me,’ she told him. ‘Then I will be all right. Kiss me better.’