Even the first slender forerunners of the mighty torrents were unforgettable, and individual.  Long, ethereal, floating white feathers drooped from the heads of tremendous boulders that were gray with the glossy grayness of old silver.  Cascades were everywhere; and the weaving of many diamond-skeins of water behind a dark foreground of motionless trees was like the ceaseless play of human thought behind inscrutable faces whose expression never changed.

Yet these silver tapestries, pearl-embroidered, were but the binding for the Book of the Valley, the great poem of the waterfalls; and as the stage brought them near the home of the mighty cataracts, Nick and Angela noticed that the atmosphere became mysteriously different.  The sky rolled down a blue curtain, to trail on the floor of the valley, like a veil suspended before an altar-piece.  Through this curtain of exquisite texture—­bright as spun glass, transparent as star-sapphires, and faintly shimmering—­their gaze travelled toward soaring peaks and boulders, which seemed to rise behind the sky instead of against it.  Then, suddenly, out gleamed the dome of the Bridal Veil, bright and high in the heavens as a comet sweeping a glittering tail earthward.

Later, as the stage wound along the road and brought them under the wall of the cataract, the rainbow diadem that pinned the topmost folds of the veil glittered against the noonday sun; and in the lacy woof of moving water, lovely kaleidoscopic patterns played with constant interchange of flowery designs.  Invisible fingers wove the bridal lace, beading with diamonds the foliage of its design; or so Angela thought when first she saw the falls.  But presently she made a discovery—­one which Nick had made years ago, and kept the secret that Angela might have the joy of finding it for herself.

“Why, it isn’t a veil, after all!” she exclaimed.

“I know,” said Nick.  “That effect’s only for the first few minutes, like a stage curtain hiding the real thing.”

“And the real thing is only for the elect, like us,” said Angela, conceitedly.  “Outsiders can’t get behind the curtain.  Let me tell you what I see.”

“And if we see the same thing?”

“Why, it would be a sign that we’d been—­friends in a former incarnation, wouldn’t it?” But this was a question to leave unanswered, and she went on quickly to describe what she saw behind the “stage curtain” of the Bridal Veil.  “A white witch falling——­”

“Yes, from the saddle of a black horse——­”

“A winged horse, like those the Valkyries ride.  Oh, now the witch has turned her face to me, as she falls.  She’s putting me under a spell.  I feel I shall never escape.”

“I hope you never will,” said Nick.  “So we did see the same thing in the Cascade!  I found the falling witch when I was here before; but I came under the spell with you.”