[CHAPTER IX.]
THE ALTERNATIVE.
"Grim warders of the everlasting crags,
To whose bleak avenues the eagle steers;
Holding an endless conclave of the peers,
Where often Time lays down his blade and lags;
Ye are of other days when roaming stags
Leaped from no human voice with trembling fears;
Ere came the red men and the pioneers;
Or Glooscap plied his paddle to the flags."
While Winslow and his recent acquaintances were resting on the broad shelf which they had reached with so much difficulty, and were looking out over the waters that lay below them nearly two hundred feet, a boat appeared sailing close to shore.
"My boatman has arrived, ladies. Shall we return and take the boat, or continue up the mountain?"
"We could never get down again," said Miss Forest, going as near the edge as she dared, and looking down with a shudder. "I am sure I do not know how we ever came up."
"It is always easier to go up a steep place than to go down," said Winslow, recalling his own experience of a few weeks previous.
"I also think we had better try the ascent," added Miss Gaston.