"Ha, ha, ha, ha! yes, Mrs. Bunker. You had better commence all over again." As they drove on the sound of the falls grew into a loud roar. Miniature rapids could be seen, now and then, as the river emptied itself into small rocky basins, then plunged onward. Finally, Indiana slackened pace at a rustic bridge, where they alighted. This bridge led by short flights of steps to other ascending bridges spanning the falls. "I’ll sit down by the water," said Mrs. Stillwater. "I don’t like to cross the falls. They make me giddy." 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. "Indiana, stop that! Lord Canning, will you hold her?" "Allow me," said Lord Canning, putting his arms about her and bending himself to gaze down into the falls. Their tremendous rush and power awoke a responsive chord in his own breast. He was conscious that what had been first an impulse with him was rapidly becoming a force, as wildly impetuous in its way as that upon which he was gazing. In one part of the glen some logs had been stacked under the trees. Lord Canning secured one. "I wish to test the force of the water," he said. It took all the strength he possessed to raise the log high in the air and fling it down into the falls. There, it was lifted and tossed by the eddying current, then whirled onward, out of sight, as though it had been a leaf. "Tremendous power! Miss Stillwater, you have gazed long enough into the witches’ cauldron." They ascended slowly, behind Mrs. Bunker and Lord Stafford.