Their way now lay down the great valley of Virginia, with the Blue Ridge mountains on the east and the Alleghanies on the west—a paradise of beauty in the summer, and a fine country even when covered with snow, as it was now, in mid-winter. By nightfall they reached Staunton. Gloria was much fatigued, and again David Lindsay implored her to rest for one night. But Gloria, willful as ever, was bent upon going on until she should reach the end of her journey. That extreme bourne, the “Hold” in the Iron Mountains, on the confines of three States, possessed a weird attraction like the lodestone, and drew her on and on. “It is like a place in a dream—a place in a nightmare—but it fascinates me all the same,” she answered to the expostulations of David Lindsay. After a substantial supper, finished with strong coffee, the travelers who were to go farther took seats in the changed coach, and began the third night’s journey towards Lexington. Again, as before, the two young people slept throughout the ride, only, being still more fatigued, they slept more soundly than ever, and only awakened when, at sunrise, the coach drew up at the hotel in the main street of the little town of Lexington, and their fellow passengers began to climb over them in getting out. Here they stopped for an hour. A refreshing wash, a substantial breakfast, and a brisk walk up and down the village street, restored the strength and spirit of the wearied young pair, so that they re-entered the lumbering old coach without any remaining oppression from fatigue, and well prepared to enjoy the day’s ride through the varied scenery of hill and dale, woods, waters, fields, farms, towns and hamlets that diversified the valley that lay between the two great ranges of mountains. Towards evening the valley narrowed and the mountains rose until the road seemed to be approaching a gorge. While there was yet light enough, David Lindsay drew a pocket map from his breast and began to examine it. “If our journey takes us through that yawning chasm, I think we had better stop for the night at the first tavern we come to,” suggested the young man, thinking more of the safety of his companion than of his own. “No! where the coach can go, we can go, night or day,” persisted Gloria. It was dusk when they reached the gap they had seen so far before them. There was a great stone building on a river that broke through the mountains at this point. The water reflected the high precipices and the buildings with their gleaming lights. The place was a combination of tavern, post-house, mill and ferry. Here they stopped to change horses and get supper, after which the coach, with its passengers, freight and horses, was ferried across the river to the other side, and then it took the road beneath the shelter of the snow-clad mountains, and kept it, plodding along slowly for the rest of the night. But we must not dwell too long on this picturesque journey.