“Thank you,” she said coldly, “I prefer my own things.” And when he turned away instantly, quite hurt at the unfriendly tone, she caught hold of Max’s hand and began the steep descent with a mist, not entirely of the mountains, blinding her eyes. For she was heartsick this morning, and it was not only the loss of the story that had occasioned the wretchedness, but her faith and admiration for this man had been torn away so roughly that certain sensations she hardly realized seemed numbed.
“Come along, dear, hold my hand,” she said to Max,—“Lynn, Muffie,—walk carefully! Hold to the rail at the steep places, Paul.”
But she always said this as a matter of duty, and equally as a matter of duty they never heeded her, for even Max knew every step of the way and had manfully climbed the ladders alone, and crept sure-footed over the great fallen trees that formed bridges, since he was three.
Down, down they went through the exquisite gorge; greener and still more green grew the way as the path wound farther and farther away from the sunburnt lands overhead. Giant tree ferns grouped themselves [p247] together in one place and in another guarded the path in sentinel-like rows. You looked up and sheer walls of rock towered thousands of feet above your head—brown, naked, rugged walls here—and there, where the waterfalls dripped, clothed in a marvellous mantle of young ferns. Here a huge, jagged promontory stretched across your way, and the diplomatic path, unable to force a way through, simply ceased in its downward bent, and with handrails and steps led you up again.
As a reward for expended breath, a rail at the top encircled a stone peninsula and gave you a resting-place and an outlook—an outlook startlingly beautiful by reason of its unexpectedness. For the promontory had hidden the valley’s loveliness, and here you found a sudden glorious peep at it. And then your eyes looking down, down below the rail, saw that cascades had met and the water was plunging in a wide glistening sheet down the dizzy height.
The path led downwards again; the heart of the traveller has seen the falling of the water and cannot have its desire until it stands somewhere where the same down-dropping stream forms a deep pool and ceases.
Down, down they went, Miss Bibby, Muffie and Max leading and, far behind, Pauline and Lynn, lingering as was their wont (they had a passion for pretending they were wandering [p248] quite alone in the gully)—but occasionally sending downwards a cooee to assure Miss Bibby of their safety.
They were dangling their legs on a seat in “The Lovers’ Cave,” two little figures in blue zephyr, when Paul gave a sudden exclamation of dismay.
“Quick, quick,” she said, “we’re going too slowly. Here come the others.”
She seized Lynn’s hand and the two began to hurry along the path again, for at a bend just above them were the holland frocks and mushroom hats of Florence and Effie.