"Have no fear, Mrs. Stillwater. Your daughter is managing these ponies admirably—" he added to Indiana—"with those small hands. May I relieve you presently?"
"Thank you—I am not tired. I should fear to trust you. One must know the roads."
Gradually the low musical gurgle of the stream deepened into a more significant undertone. Indiana made a sudden cut to the left and turned out, after crossing a bridge, on another narrow road overlooking a deep ravine. From its depths they still heard the voice of the stream, growing into an angry murmur. After a while, on the right, rose a high, craggy mountain-wall, with sparse foliage growing in its crannies.
Lord Stafford peered down into the ravine. "What a wicked looking place. We're quite on the edge, Miss Stillwater. Our lives are in your hands—and that terrible mountain on the right."
"It shadows us like fate," said Lord Canning.
"There is a mysterious voice warning us from the ravine. Remember, that was once the low cooing murmur of a placid stream."
"There's a lesson in that," said Mrs. Bunker. "Never trust a woman with a soft cooing voice."
"Ha, ha, ha, ha! Quite so, Mrs. Bunker."
"What a sudden change," remarked Lord Canning, "from a fairy pastoral to this mysterious wilderness. Are these sudden changes common to the country?"
"Common to the country—and the women," replied Indiana, laughing.