She looked around, and down into the depth below, but she could see nothing but trees and brushwood.

She was not strong-minded, so she began to be afraid.

However, summoning up her courage, she pushed into a kind of broken stony path, down the side of the gully, and at the expense of a few more rents in the muslin dress, and some scratches on her hands, she succeeded in scrambling to the bottom.
Here was a wild and beautiful scene.

A waterfall rolled from a height, over rocks and brushwood, down into a foaming stream beneath, that rushed, in its turn, over huge stones through the dark ravine.
As Netta stood almost at the base of the waterfall, and on the edge of the rapid brook, something like reflection took possession of her volatile mind.

There was a solemn gloom and grandeur about the scene that reminded her of the Sabbath she was desecrating, and therewith of her parents, and her duty to them.