his word about amusing the two girls. They were not allowed
the time to make themselves unhappy, restless or discontented. This
Sunday afternoon he set out with a pair of the fastest horses to be got
in the neighborhood, and if these did not go several times over the
cliff, it was, as Strong had said, rather their own good sense than
their driver's which held them back. Catherine, who sat by Strong's
side, made the matter worse by taking the reins, and a more reckless
little Amazon never defied men. Even Strong himself at one moment, when
wreck seemed certain, asked her to kindly see to the publication of a
posthumous memoir, and Esther declared that although she did not fear
death, she disliked Catherine's way of killing her. Catherine paid no
attention to such ribaldry, and drove on like Phaeton. Wharton was
carried away by the girl's dash and coolness. He wanted to paint her as
the charioteer of the cataract. They drove by the whirlpool, and so far
and fast that, when Esther found herself that night tossing and feverish
in her bed, she could only dream that she was still skurrying over a
snow-bound country, aching with jolts and jerks, but unable ever to
stop. The next day she was glad to stay quietly in the house and amuse
herself with sketching, while the rest of the party crossed the river to
get Mr. Murray's sleeping-berth by the night train to New York, and to
waste their time and money on the small attractions of the village. Mr.
Murray was forced to return to his office. Wharton, who had no right to
be here at all, for a score of pressing engagements were calling for
instant attention in New York, telegraphed simply that his work would
detain him several days longer at Niagara, and he even talked of
returning with the others by way of Quebec.

While the rest of the party were attending to their own affairs at the
railway station and the telegraph office, Wharton and Catherine strolled
down to the little park over the American Fall and looked at the scene
from there. Catherine in her furs was prettier than ever; her fresh
color was brightened by the red handkerchief she had tied round her
neck, and her eyes were more mutinous than usual. As she leaned over
the parapet, and looked into the bubbling torrent which leaped into
space at her feet, Wharton would have liked to carry her off like the
torrent and give her no chance to resist. Yet, reckless as he was, he
had still common sense enough to understand that, un