everywhere in ambush, ready
to harass the wayfarers with incessant petty attack. But life _must_
have something more to offer than this--life with its myriad interests,
dramas, mysteries, arts, poetries, delights!

By the river, where it had worn for itself a narrow ravine, with steep
rocky sides or "clints," as they were called, several short tunnels or
passages had been cut in places where the rock projected as far as the
bank of the river, which was followed in its windings by a narrow
footway, leading to the farmstead of Craw Gill.

In one part, a series of such tunnels, with intervals of open pathway,
occurred in picturesque fashion, causing a singular effect of light and
shade.

As Hadria stood admiring the glow of the now fully-risen sun, upon the
wall of rock that rose beyond the opening of the tunnel which she had
just passed through, she heard footsteps advancing along the riverside
path, and guessed that Algitha and Ernest had come to fetch her, or to
join in any absurd project that she might have in view. Although Algitha
was two-and-twenty, and Hadria only a year younger, they were still
guilty at times of wild escapades, with the connivance of their
brothers. Walks or rides at sunrise were ordinary occurrences in the
family, and in summer, bathing in the river was a favourite amusement.

"I thought I recognised your footsteps," said Hadria, as the two figures
appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, the low rays of the sun lighting
them up, for a moment, as they turned the sharp bend of the narrow path,
before entering the shadow.

A quantity of brown dead leaves were strewn upon the floor of the
rock-passage, blown in by the wind from the pathway at each end, or
perhaps through the opening in the middle of the tunnel that looked out
upon the rushing river.

A willow-tree had found footing in the crevice of the rock just outside,
and its branches, thinly decked with pale yellow leaves, dipped into the
water just in front of the opening. When the wind blew off the river it
would sweep the leaves of the willow into the tunnel.

"Let's make a bonfire," suggested Ernest.

They collected the withered harvest of the winds upon the cavern floor,
in a big brown heap, and then Ernest struck a match and set light to it.
Algitha, in a large black cloak, stood over it with a hazel stick--like
a wand--stirring and heaping on the fuel, as the mass began to smoulder
and to send forth a thick white smoke that gradua