We traversed a gently rising slope of grass land, with numerous rocks scattered over its surface, keeping as close as possible along the bank of the brawling stream, that we might make use of its narrow valley through the rocky bluffs, which threatened to bar our passage.

These were no great distance away, so a steady gait--I set the pace slow not to distress Madame, who was cramped from long sitting within the boat--brought us in an hour to where our narrowing path was overhung and darkened by the closing in of gloomy mountain heights upon either side.

It had an awesome look, like the yawning mouth of a cave, opening to intense darkness and mysterious danger.

I saw a look almost of terror in Madame's eyes as she gazed, yet her lips uttered no protest, and I flung aside a desire to shrink back, with a muttered curse at my own folly.

Saint Andrew! it is odd how superstition grips the best of us.