Edith had been there often. The weird wildness of the deep gorge
suited her, and many an hour had she whiled away upon the broken
rocks, watching the flecks of sunlight as they came struggling
down through the overhanging trees, listening to the plaintive
murmur of the stream, or gazing with delight upon the fringed,
feathery falls which hung from the heights above like some long,
white, gauzy ribbon. Richard, on the contrary, had never visited
them before, and he only consented to do so now from a desire to
gratify Edith, who acted as his escort in place of Victor. Holding
fast to her hand he slowly descended the winding steps and
circuitous paths, and then, with a sad feeling of helpless
dependence, sat down upon the bank where Edith bade him sit,
herself going off in girlish ecstasies as a thin spray fell upon
her face and she saw above her a bright-hued rainbow, spanning the
abyss.
"They are letting the water on," she cried, "Look, Richard! do
look!" and she grasped his hand, while he said to her mournfully,
"Has Birdie forgotten that I am blind, and helpless, and old--that
she must lead me as a child?"
There was a touching pathos in his voice which went straight to
Edith's heart, and forgetting the rainbow, she eat down beside
him, still keeping his hand in hers, and asked what was the
matter? She knew he was unusually disturbed, for seldom had she
seen upon his face a look of so great disquiet.
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