They worked down the lane by slow degrees, picking hard as they went.

At the end a sudden rushing roar struck upon the ear, and without even waiting for a signal from Miss Moseley the girls with one accord hopped over a fence, and ran up a slight incline.
The voice of the waterfall was calling, and the impulse to obey was irresistible.

At the top of the slope they stopped, for they had reached a natural platform that overlooked the gorge.

The scene rivalled one of the beauty-spots of Switzerland.

The Porth Powys stream, flowing between precipitous rocks, fell two hundred feet in a series of four splendid cascades.