With strange awe they glanced up the gorge, through the weird gloom of the scene, at the pearly glitter of the falling water, with its blur of green background, that appeared as if some miraculous hand had suddenly wrenched the earth apart to send forth its flashing spray. And then they grew curiously still as they spied the eerie shadows on the high black wall, where the sunlight, as it glinted down into the glen in wanton sport, played hide-and-seek with golden glimmer.
But the silence was broken as Mr. Banker pointed out a huge tree-trunk that had fallen across the stream, reaching from side to side of the gorge, making an aërial pathway high above their heads. When the gentleman said it was called “The Devil’s Bridge,” and that sometimes people had walked on it across the gorge, their tongues began to clatter.
Fired by curiosity, the boys regained their nerve and pushed manfully up the foot-bridge, barred with slats, like a horse’s plank, while Mr. Banker, holding little Sheila by the hand, followed close behind. Nathalie, with a strange timidity, hesitatingly followed, always being oppressed by an odd, queer feeling when ascending any great height, a feeling that she wanted to cling to something more tangible than space. But there was nothing to cling to but that shaky old railing, and little Jean was hanging to it fearsomely with his one hand, his little form shaking tremulously, and his eyes black with an odd fear.
Stirred to pity, Nathalie drew the child to the other side of her, near the high wall, away from that gaping rut in the earth beneath, and then caught him firmly by the shoulder. Then suddenly, perhaps it was a quick glance down into the depths below, she felt a strange, indefinable sensation pass through her. A deathly faintness seized her; she closed her eyes, and then she felt herself falling, falling——
But a pitiful cry from the boy, “Oh, Mademoiselle Natty! No, you not fall! Jean will hold you,” aroused her, and she opened her eyes to see the white face of the boy, as he stared up at her while clutching her frantically with his one hand.
“Oh, no, Jean; I’m all right now,” but even as she spoke that same old sensation again thrilled her. She felt sick and faint again, and then——
“Rather steep just here, isn’t it? But cling to that rail, and you’ll be all right; you can’t fall.”
The girl turned quickly, once more roused from the sudden fear that had assailed her, and found herself gazing into the sun-tanned face of a young man in khaki. He had slipped his arm back of her, against the railing, as if to prevent her from falling, while from under the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat two dark-blue eyes, heavily lashed, smiled down at her reassuringly.
Nathalie heaved a deep sigh. Oh, it was such a relief to see that strong, brown hand grasping the rail. And then, with a quick little smile, in sudden realization of her foolish fancy that she was slipping down into the gorge below, she cried, “Oh, I don’t suppose I could fall, but something—— O dear! I know I am very foolish, but I always feel so queer when I stand on any great height, especially when I look down.”
“That is a sensation that is shared by many people when they get up in the air, I guess,” was the kindly response. And then, as if to give the girl time to regain her poise, he turned to Jean. “Do you see that place between the walls?” directing the child’s gaze to a place midway between the top of the gorge and the brook below. “Well, ever since the Flume has been known to white men,” he continued, “a great rock, or boulder, was wedged, or suspended, between the two walls. It was like a nut in a cracker, a most curious sight.