“I should not think that an artist would; the gray rock is much the most picturesque.—Now, here is the ferry just before us where, according to the programme arranged by Commander Eric, we are to cross. But, if you would like to do something adventurous and altogether different from the others, I have another plan to propose.” Sylvia’s eyes brighten immediately. Something adventurous and altogether different from the others—what does she desire more ardently? “Propose your plan, by all means,” she says eagerly. “What is it?” Charley, to his credit be it said, hesitates an instant. But it is only an instant. The spirit of adventure is too strong in him for his powers of resistance. Besides, he knows the mettle of Sylvia’s courage, and that where he chooses to go she will follow; so he answers: “By going a mile lower, we can ford the river. Should you like that?” “Like it!” She clasps her hands. “I should like it of all things. But I did not know that the French Broad _could_ be forded.” “There are two or three places on the river where it is practicable. This is one of them. There is usually thought to be some risk about it—therefore I am not sure that I ought to take you. Perhaps, after all, we had better cross at the ferry.” “That is nonsense!” says Sylvia. “Of course you know that I am going to ford the river. Nothing would induce me to cross in that humdrum ferry-boat. Come!—here is a good stretch for a canter.” A mere suggestion sets the horses off. They sweep forward with spirit. The road just here is remarkably good—level, and not very rocky. Hills dark with foliage rise on one side; on the other, fields intervene between the turnpike and the river. The mountains on the opposite bank of the stream are dappled with cloud-shadows that move slowly across their great shoulders and wooded sides. Looking up the river, there is a beautiful curve and a vista of heights softened into blueness. Overhead the sky is flecked with fleecy white clouds. “What a thing it is to be alive—and on horseback—such a day as this!” says Sylvia, as they ride “through sun and shade” without drawing rein. “What a thing it is to have left Lanier and Miss Hollis behind!” says Charley. Presently they reach the ford, which is their point of destination. As they pause, Charley springs down from his horse and looks at the road, which, overarched with shade, leads into the water. Then he glances up at his companion with rather a grave expression on his face. “I see no trace of anybody having passed here recently,” he says. “Sylvia, I don’t fancy the idea of taking you in.” “Very likely nobody has forded to-day or yesterday,” says Sylvia, composedly. “Have you ever crossed here?” “Several times—two or three years ago.” “Was it deep fording?” “As well as I remember, it was rather deep fording—too deep for you, I am afraid. We must go back to the humdrum ferry.”