white caps. The Arch is a natural bridge over a chasm one hundred and
fifty feet above the lake,--a fissure in the cliff which has fallen
away in a hollow, leaving the bridge by itself far out over the water.
This bridge springs upward in the shape of an arch; it is fifty feet
long, and its width is in some places two feet, in others only a few
inches,--a narrow, dizzy pathway hanging between sky and water.

'People have crossed it,' I said.

'Only fools,' answered oar surgeon, who despised foolhardiness. 'Has
a man nothing better to do with his life than risk it for the sake of
a silly feat like that! I would not so much as raise my eyes to see
any one cross.'

'O yes, you would, Monsieur Rodenai,' cried a voice behind us. We both
turned and caught a glimpse of Jeannette as she bounded through the
bushes and out to the very centre of the Arch, where she stood
balancing herself and laughing gayly. Her form was outlined against
the sky; the breeze, swayed her skirt; she seemed hovering over the
chasm. I watched her, mute with fear; a word might cause her to lose
her balance; but I could not turn my eyes away, I was fascinated with
the sight. I was not aware that Rodney had left me until he, too,
appeared on the Arch, slowly finding a foothold for himself and
advancing toward the centre. A fragment of the rock broke off under
his foot and fell in the abyss below.

'Go back, Monsieur Rodenai,' cried Jeannette, seeing his danger.

'Will you came back too, Jeannette?'