Tall trees still overarched the rivulet; but its bank became smoother as they advanced. A few rods below, the channel was again contracted, but not by impending crags. A huge sycamore, ancient and thunder-scarred, but still flourishing, had been tumbled over the stream by some forgotten tempest; but so tightly were its roots twisted in the rocky soil of the one bank, and so tenacious was the hold of its gnarled and elbowed boughs upon the sward of the other, that it maintained its place despite the floods, which, it was evident, often washed over it, and thus afforded a bridge, rustic enough, but secure, though by no means easy of passage. Upon this Harriet, still perturbed and driven onward by painful emotion, was about to place her foot, when she was restrained by the trembling grasp of her companion. "What means the child?" she exclaimed, with a feverish accent: "there are no savages here." "But," said Catherine, with a faint voice, "it was over there, by the rock, they dug the poor girl's grave!" Miss Falconer recoiled for a moment, and then saying, with a firm voice, "It matters not--let us visit it," she sprang upon the bridge, followed by Catherine, and made her way across. About thirty paces below, the stream darted over a rock, making a cascade ten or twelve feet high; and it was the roar of this fall, borne downwards by the breeze, which had attracted the painter's curiosity, as he paused for a moment on the road side. It possessed no very striking beauty, nor was the body of water that leaped over the rock of any extraordinary magnitude; yet it had a violent and even impressive look, and the waters hurrying impetuously towards it from above, shot under the sycamore with an appearance of fury that might have tried the nerves of any over-timid person, crossing by so precarious a bridge. CHAPTER VII. Dull grave--thou spoil'st the dance of youthful blood, Strik'st out the dimple from the cheek of mirth, And every smirking feature from the face, Branding our laughter with the name of madness. Where are the jesters now?---- --------Ah! sullen now, And dumb as the green turf that covers them. BLAIR--_The Grave_.