of Niagara which no one resists; nor could Isabel have been persuaded from exploring them.  It wants no courage to do this, but merely submission to the local sorcery, and the adventurer has no other reward than the consciousness of having been where but a few years before no human being had perhaps set foot.  She grossed from bridge to bridge with a quaking heart, and at last stood upon the outermost isle, whence, through the screen of vines and boughs, she gave fearful glances at the heaving and tossing flood beyond, from every wave of which at every instant she rescued herself with a desperate struggle.  The exertion told heavily upon her strength unawares, and she suddenly made Basil another revelation of character.  Without the slightest warning she sank down at the root of a tree, and said, with serious composure, that she could never go back on those bridges; they were not safe.  He stared at her cowering form in blank amaze, and put his hands in his pockets.  Then it occurred to his dull masculine sense that it must be a joke; and he said, “Well, I’ll have you taken off in a boat.”

“O do, Basil, do, have me taken off in a boat!” implored Isabel.  “You see yourself the Midges are not safe.  Do get a boat.”

“Or a balloon,” he suggested, humoring the pleasantry.

Isabel burst into tears; and now he went on his knees at her side, and took her hands in his.  “Isabel!  Isabel!  Are you crazy?” he cried, as if he meant to go mad himself.  She moaned and shuddered in reply; he said, to mend matters, that it was a jest, about the boat; and he was driven to despair when Isabel repeated, “I never can go back by the bridges, never.”

“But what do you propose to do?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!”

He would try sarcasm.  “Do you intend to set up a hermitage here, and have your meals sent out from the hotel?  It’s a charming spot, and visited pretty constantly; but it’s small, even for a hermitage.”

Isabel moaned again with her hands still on her eyes, and wondered that he was not ashamed to make fun of her.

He would try kindness.  “Perhaps, darling, you’ll let me carry you ashore.”

“No, that will bring double the weight on the bridge at once.”

“Couldn’t you shut your eyes, and let me lead you?”

“Why, it isn’t the sight of the rapids,” she said, looking up fiercely.  “The bridges are not safe.  I’m not a child, Basil.  O, what shall we do?”

“I don’t know,” said Basil, gloomily.  “It’s an exigency for which I wasn’t prepared.”  Then he silently gave himself to the Evil One, for having probably overwrought Isabel’s nerves by repeating that poem about Avery, and by the ensuing talk about Niagara, which she had seemed to enjoy so much.  He asked her if that was it; and she answered, “O no, it’s nothing but the bridges.”  He proved to her that the bridges, upon all known principles, were perfectly safe, and that they could not give way.  She shook her head, but made no answer, and he lost his patience.