"Let us walk a bit up the trail," suggested Travers. "I always feel
like the Englishman who said the views halfway up a mountain are more
enjoyable than those on top. At least, you have life enough left to enjoy
them. This particular trail is a mighty wicked one. There ought to be
guides, for safety. I know the way perfectly; my mother and I once stayed
here some years ago. She meant to come here this summer early, but has
decided to wait until Doctor Ledyard joins us. I feel as if I were taking
the cream off the thing. Will you trust me--Priscilla?"

There was challenge and command in the use of her name.

"Absolutely."

"Come, then! I want you to go first. The rise is easy for a half-mile or
so. I can better watch out for you and catch you--if you make a misstep.
The stones are loose and mischievous; the path is ridiculously near the
edge of things. If one should--now do not get nervous, but if you should
go over, just clutch the bushes, the sturdy little clumps, and nothing
can really happen."

"I never get nervous in high places. Being used to dead levels, I have
the courage of the ignorant. Doesn't the air make one----"

"Heady?"

"Yes. I suppose that is it. Heady and--light-hearted."

Travers had his eyes fixed on the form ahead in its dark blue mountain
skirt and corduroy waist.