“Ah!” says Eric. He makes no further remark until we are in the carriage; then he says: “I knew all the time that scamp was telling what was not true when he said the ford was safe. It is certainly dangerous, and he carried Sylvia through it.” “How rash!” says Mrs. Cardigan. “And Mr. Kenyon is the last person I should suspect of rashness.” “Charley is an impostor,” says Eric. “When he throws off his indolence—which is half affectation—he is not only energetic, but daring to recklessness.” “And Sylvia is as rash as he is,” I say. “They should _never_ be allowed to go out together.” “Sometimes they don’t ask permission—this morning, for instance, they did not,” says Mrs. Cardigan, with a laugh. We reach the Springs in time for a late dinner, and indemnify ourselves for the fatigue of the morning by an afternoon _siesta_ of unusual length. It is nearly sunset when we gather on the lawn near the river-bank. All the tide of watering-place life is astir. People are sitting or walking under the shade of the large trees; across a stretch of greensward stands the hotel with a tide of well-dressed humanity flowing up and down its long piazzas; over the river the last rays of sunlight are shining on the crests of the hills at the base of which the stream flows. We are idly enjoying this picture, and Aunt Markham is telling the latest items of gossip afloat during the day, when Mrs. Cardigan comes up. She is very handsome, this fast young widow—a brunette of the richest type, with a degree of style that would mark even a plain woman. “Who will walk to Lover’s Leap to see the sunset?” she asks. “Surely you are not all exhausted by our Paint Rock expedition?—Miss Norwood, I find that by climbing that mountain we have enrolled ourselves on the list of heroines—did you know it?” “Reputation must be easily made in this part of the world,” says Sylvia, laughing. The stroll to Lover’s Leap is a short one, and the ascent of the cliff comparatively easy. We soon find ourselves on top, with the narrow road winding like a thread below, and the turbulent river chafing over its rocks. “If I were one of the class of lovers who make leaps,” says Charley, meditatively, “I should prefer this place for the purpose to any other that I have ever seen. It has several advantages. In the first place, the height is good; in the second place, one could spring without difficulty into the water.” “And then swim out, if one liked,” says Mrs. Cardigan, laughing. “But you are right—it is the best Lover’s Leap I have ever seen. And I think we have the best view of the Springs from here.”