They saw her comfortably installed on a large boulder beneath a tree, near a spot where the river wandered off in a placid mood. Then they climbed the frail stairs leading to the different bridges, pausing at each to gaze closer at the fierce rush of the waters.
"What a wild, dark glen!" exclaimed Lord Canning, looking about him, as they reached the last bridge. "Those majestic pines stand like sentinels watching the falls." He gazed down into the enormous gorge called The Notch, into which the falls dashed, with a deafening sound, sending up a blinding shower of spray. "How the water seethes and boils and bubbles! It is like a gigantic cauldron. Magnificent for witches! What poisons, what love-potions and charms they could brew down there! Just the place for a conjuration!"
"You'd say that if you saw the place by moonlight. It looks simply unearthly."
"I should love to see it by moonlight. May I?" He looked pleadingly at Indiana.
"Well," she said, meditatively.
"Certainly," interrupted Mrs. Bunker. "We'll have a moonlight picnic, just as soon as there is a moon. Probably my son will be here then."
"My handkerchief is quite wet," said Lord Stafford, wiping the spray from his face.
"Take mine," offered Mrs. Bunker, holding up a wet morsel.
"Oh, my dear lady, of what use would that be?"
"I love the spray," remarked Indiana, taking off her hat and leaning over.