“It is not a matter of the least importance what you believe,” answers Charley, more brusquely than he usually speaks. “Have you all forgotten,” I interpose hastily, “that we have not seen Paint Rock yet? Let us go down there to-morrow.” “Let us go somewhere, by all means,” says Sylvia. “This kind of tread-mill existence begins to oppress me with a sense of weariness. I want to ride, to cross a swollen stream, to climb some rocks—to do any thing that has the thrill of adventure in it.” “There is not much adventure in climbing the Paint Rock,” says Eric, “but if you are very anxious for a thrill, you may throw yourself off.” “Thanks for the permission—but didn’t somebody talk of crossing the river and going to Lovers’ Retreat this evening?” There is nothing else to be done, so we all decide to go, and Charley invites Miss Hollis to join our party. We cross the river, which is beginning to lose its turbid tinge and wear its emerald tint again—those of us who are prudent take the ferry-boat, those who are imprudent use a small craft that lies at the foot of the lawn. The latter crew consists of Charley, Miss Hollis, and Rupert. Sylvia would like to be with them, but she does not say so—I only know as much by the expression of her eyes as she watches the little boat shoot across the rapid current, while our slow old ferryman has not pulled us half across the stream. We land on the other side at length, however, and stroll along the road for some distance; then, turning, enter a narrow, shaded ravine. A musical stream comes dashing over its rocks to meet us, up the bank of which we take our course. There is no perceptible path, and the way is very rough, but only Mr. Lanier complains of this. “If these people had any enterprise,” he says, “they would have all such places as this made accessible by good paths.” “May a kind Fate keep such an idea from ever entering their heads!” says Sylvia. “Can’t you see how much more delightful this is? Who cares for a pleasure that costs no effort? We enjoy the cascade a great deal more—my dress is caught, if you please— because we have trouble in reaching it.” “Do you think so?” asks the young man, a little skeptically, as he unfastens the dress from the bush on which it is caught. “O Mr. Kenyon, _how_ shall I ever climb over this?” cries Miss Hollis, hesitating at the foot of a large rock which it is necessary to mount. “There’s no difficulty at all,” says Rupert. “If you just put your foot on that ledge and spring.” [Illustration: “‘Let me lift you,’ says Charley.”] “There will be still less difficulty if you let me lift you,” says Charley. And he _does_ lift her—a very substantial weight she is, too!—over the formidable obstacle. Then he stands, ready to assist Sylvia in the same manner. “I won’t trouble you,” she says, waving aside his offered hand. “I don’t consider this any thing at all in the way of trial. Is that the cascade yonder?”