"I am not understood by many—I would not care to be—" "Do be careful, Indiana," said Mrs. Stillwater, as they bounded over a frail bridge built on logs. "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. "Quite so, Miss Stillwater," said Lord Stafford. "You know Pope’s familiar couplet— Women like variegated tulips show, ’Tis to their changes, half their charms they owe.’" "Do you echo that sentiment, Lord Stafford," asked Mrs. Bunker, archly. "Well, really, that’s a difficult question, Mrs. Bunker. One is bored by monotony, of course—but sometimes these sudden changes can be deucedly unpleasant—ha, ha, ha, ha!" "There is the river," explained Indiana, pointing to a black rushing current, murmuring angrily below them. They watched it for a mile, sometimes writhing slowly in its rocky bed, like a long black snake, while the angry murmur grew faint and then rose again as the water rushed on with renewed power, frothing madly over the holders and rocks which barred its progress. Suddenly before them rose the blue, distant peak of one of the giant mountains. "You wish to climb all the mountains?" inquired Indiana. "This will be the first—it is the nearest. I have climbed it." Lord Canning surveyed it with interest. "And will you climb it with me again?" "I suppose so. I climb it every year. It’s only four miles from our camp to the trail."