ry had built her
wonderful Giralda out of foam and spray, would that of Winter tourists
begin to flow.

Leaving her trunk at the "baggage room" of the station, Beryl engaged a
carriage driver to take her to the Suspension Bridge. Drawing her gray
bonnet and veil as far as possible over her face, she paid the toll,
and noticed that the keeper peered curiously at her, and muttered
something in an undertone to a man wearing a uniform, who turned and
stared at her.

She hurried away along that iron mesh swinging high in air like a vast
spider web, spun from shore to shore across the swirling, snarling
caldron of hissing waters. Was the officer the wary spider watching her
movements, waiting to slip down the metal snare, and devour her hopes?
Her heart beats sounded as the heavy thuds of a drum; the rush of dire
forebodings drowned even the roar of the Falls, and the magnificence of
the spectacle vanished before the awful realization of the danger to
which she had invited Bertie.

The bridge was deserted; no human being was visible; and now and then
she glanced back over her shoulder, dreading she knew not what form of
pursuit. At last her flying feet touched British soil, but she knew
now, that neither Bezer nor yet Shechcm lay before her; and no
sign-post rose to welcome her, with the "Refuge--Refuge"--the water and
the bread appointed of old, for spent fugitives. Canada was an ambush
that, despite all caution, might betray her. Against the last rail of
the bridge she leaned, tried to steady her nerves; and put up one
passionate prayer:

"Turn not Thy face from me, O my God! in this last hour! Guide me
aright. Overrule all my mistakes, and save my repentant brother."

On the wide gallery of the "Clifton House" stood a gardener engaged in
removing the flower baskets that hung between the columns; and as he
paused in his work, to observe the quaint gray figure below, she asked,
in a voice that was strained beyond its customary sweetness:

"Please direct me to the Museum."

"Follow the street along the cliff, and you can't miss it. Behind those
trees yonder, on the right hand side. To the best of my belief, it is
shut up this week."

Turning south, she walked more leisurely, lest undue haste should
excite suspicion; and all the solemn sublimity of the scene confronted
her. The green crescent of the Horseshoe blanched to foam, as it leaped
to the stony gulf below, the wreaths of mist floating up, gilded by the
sunsh