Away to the north could be heard the roar of falling water.
The blue mist that hung over the mountain at the beginning of night had cleared away from the face of the sky, and the great round moon looked out in all its queenly splendor, lighting up the little valley with a soft, dreamy light.
Halting on the summit of a little knoll overlooking the plain, the ranger lifted Silvia to the ground, and then, dismounting himself, stood by her side.
“We rest here,” he said. “Look yonder, and tell me what you see.”
“I can see a broad, silvery surface, resembling a tiny lake, sleeping there, just where the black wood begins.”
“It is not a lake, Miss Sanford, but a broad sheet of water falling over a high, jutting rock, in which is my cavern home—my castle.”
Silvia felt a chill creep over her frame as she thought: “What if he is a robber, or an escaped criminal—a base villain, leading me into his lair; but no; it can not be possible that an evil heart lies concealed behind that noble, handsome face. He has saved me from the tortures of Indian captivity, or perhaps a worse fate, and I will not entertain, for a moment, one disrespectful thought of him.
“I should think you would get lonesome here, Mr. Rainbolt,” she finally said.
“That may all be,” he replied, gravely. “But I can do no better, and I offer you the hospitality of my secluded home—that is, if you have no scruples of going there alone with me.”
“Why should I, Mr. Rainbolt, when to you I owe my life? I feel perfectly free—yes, proud, to trust your honesty, manhood and protection.”