And now, by this ray of light, for which She had been waiting, and timed our arrival to meet, knowing that at this season for thousands of years it had always struck thus at sunset, we saw what was before us.  Within eleven or twelve feet of the very tip of the tongue-like rock whereon we stood there arose, presumably from the far bottom of the gulf, a sugarloaf-shaped cone, of which the summit was exactly opposite to us.  But had there been a summit only it would not have helped us much, for the nearest point of its circumference was some forty feet from where we were.  On the lip of this summit, however, which was circular and hollow, rested a tremendous flat boulder, something like a glacier stone—­perhaps it was one, for all I know to the contrary—­and the end of this boulder approached to within twelve feet or so of us.  This huge rock was nothing more or less than a gigantic rocking-stone, accurately balanced upon the edge of the cone or miniature crater, like a half-crown on the rim of a wine-glass; for, in the fierce light that played upon it and us, we could see it oscillating in the gusts of wind.

“Quick!” said Ayesha; “the plank—­we must cross while the light endures; presently it will be gone.”

“Oh, Lord, sir!” groaned Job, “surely she don’t mean us to walk across that there place on that there thing,” as in obedience to my direction he pushed the long board towards me.

“That’s it, Job,” I halloaed in ghastly merriment, though the idea of walking the plank was no pleasanter to me than to him.

I pushed the board on to Ayesha, who deftly ran it across the gulf so that one end of it rested on the rocking-stone, the other remaining on the extremity of the trembling spur.  Then placing her foot upon it to prevent it from being blown away, she turned to me.

“Since I was last here, oh Holly,” she called, “the support of the moving stone hath lessened somewhat, so that I am not certain if it will bear our weight or no.  Therefore will I cross the first, because no harm will come unto me,” and, without further ado, she trod lightly but firmly across the frail bridge, and in another second was standing safe upon the heaving stone.

“It is safe,” she called.  “See, hold thou the plank!  I will stand on the farther side of the stone so that it may not overbalance with your greater weights.  Now, come, oh Holly, for presently the light will fail us.”

I struggled to my knees, and if ever I felt terrified in my life it was then, and I am not ashamed to say that I hesitated and hung back.

“Surely thou art not afraid,” this strange creature called in a lull of the gale, from where she stood poised like a bird on the highest point of the rocking-stone.  “Make way then for Kallikrates.”