the Horseshoe they first comprehended the breadth, the great sweep, of the rapids.  The white crests of the waves in the west were coming out from under a black, lowering sky; all the foreground was in bright sunlight, dancing, sparkling, leaping, hurrying on, converging to the angle where the water becomes a deep emerald at the break and plunge.  The rapids above are a series of shelves, bristling with jutting rocks and lodged trunks of trees, and the wildness of the scene is intensified by the ragged fringe of evergreens on the opposite shore.

Over the whole island the mist, rising from the caldron, drifts in spray when the wind is rable; but on this day the forest was bright and cheerful, and as the strollers went farther away from the Great Fall; the beauty of the scene began to steal away its terror.  The roar was still dominant, but far off and softened, and did not crush the ear.  The triple islands, the Three Sisters, in their picturesque wildness appeared like playful freaks of nature in a momentary relaxation of the savage mood.  Here is the finest view of the river; to one standing on the outermost island the great flood seems tumbling out of the sky.  They continued along the bank of the river.  The shallow stream races by headlong, but close to the edge are numerous eddies, and places where one might step in and not be swept away.  At length they reached the point where the river divides, and the water stands for an instant almost still, hesitating whether to take the Canadian or American plunge.  Out a little way from the shore the waves leap and tumble, and the two currents are like race-horses parted on two ways to the goal.  Just at this point the water swirls and lingers; having lost all its fierceness and haste, and spreads itself out placidly, dimpling in the sun.  It may be a treacherous pause, this water may be as cruel as that which rages below and exults in catching a boat or a man and bounding with the victim over the cataract; but the calm was very grateful to the stunned and buffeted visitors; upon their jarred nerves it was like the peace of God.

“The preacher might moralize here,” said King.  “Here is the parting of the ways for the young man; here is a moment of calm in which he can decide which course he will take.  See, with my hand I can turn the water to Canada or to America!  So momentous is the easy decision of the moment.”

“Yes,” said the artist, “your figure is perfect.  Whichever side the young man takes, he goes to destruction.”

“Or,” continued King, appealing to Miss Lamont against this illogical construction, “this is the maiden at the crucial instant of choosing between two impetuous suitors.”

“You mean she will be sorry, whichever she chooses?”

“You two practical people would spoil any illustration in the world.  You would divest the impressive drop of water on the mountain summit, which might go to the Atlantic or to the Pacific, of all moral character by saying that it makes no difference which ocean it falls into.”