“I don’t know, sir. That is, my legs are tired, but I’m not so upward. I want to go on.”
“In half an hour we shall be through,” said Melchior; “then there are no more trees—only a green matt, with a chalet and goats and cows.”
“That means milk,” said Saxe eagerly.
“Yes, and bread and cheese,” said Melchior, smiling.
“Then I’m not tired. I’m sure of it now, sir,” said Saxe merrily; and the next half-hour was passed in a steady tramp, the guide leading as surely as if he had passed all his days in that gloomy patch of forest, never hesitating for a moment, but winding in and out to avoid the innumerable blocks which must have lain there before the pines had sprung up and grown for perhaps a hundred years.
Then there was bright daylight ahead, and in a few more strides the last trees were passed, and they came out suddenly in an amphitheatre of bare rocks, almost elliptical, but coming together at the head, and bending away like a comma turned upside down.
At the moment they stepped on to the green stunted pasture, dotted with flowers, the roar of the torrent came up from a gash in the rocks far below, and to right and left, from at least three hundred feet up, the waters of no less than five streams glided softly over the rocks, and fell slowly in silvery foam, to form so many tributaries of the torrent far below.
The effect of those falls was wonderful, and for the first few minutes it seemed as if the water had just awakened at its various sources, and was in no hurry to join the mad, impetuous stream below, so slowly it dropped, turning into spray, which grew more and more misty as it descended, while every now and then a jet as of silver rockets shot over from the top, head and tail being exactly defined, but of course in water instead of sparks.
“Will this do, Saxe?” said Dale, smiling.
“Do! Oh, come on. I want to get close up to those falls.”