sition. Withdrawing his eyes from the Fall, he looked kindly down at
Sigurd, who in turn was staring up at him with a wild fixity of regard.

"Well, old boy," he said cheerfully, "this is a fine sight! Have you had
enough of it? Shall we go back?"

Sigurd drew imperceptibly nearer. Lorimer, from his point of vantage
behind a huge bowlder, drew nearer also.

"Go back?" echoed Sigurd. "Why should we go back?"

"Why, indeed!" laughed Errington, lightly balancing himself on the
trembling rocks beneath him. "Except that I should scarcely think this
is the best place on which to pass the night! Not enough room, and too
much noise! What say you?"

"Oh, brave, brave, fool!" cried the dwarf in sudden excitement. "Are you
not _afraid_?"

The young baronet's keen eyes glanced him over with amused wonder.

"What of?" he demanded coolly. Still nearer came Sigurd--nearer also
came the watchful, though almost invisible Lorimer.

"Look down there!" continued Sigurd in shrill tones, pointing to the
foaming gulf. "Look at the _Elf-danz_--see the beautiful spirits with
the long pale green hair and glittering wings! See how they beckon,
beckon, beckon! They want some one to join them--look how their white
arms wave,--they throw back their golden veils and smile at us! They
call to _you_--you with the strong figure and the proud eyes--why do you
not go to them? They will kiss and caress you--they have sweet lips and
snow-white bosoms,--they will love you and take care of you--they are as
fair as Thelma!"

"Are they? I doubt it!" and Errington smiled dreamily as he turned his
head again towards the fleecy whirl of white water, and saw at once with
an artist's quick eye what his sick-brained companion meant by the
_Elf-danz_, in the fantastic twisting, gliding shapes tossed up in the
vaporous mist of the Fall. "But I'll take your word, Sigurd, without
making the elves' personal acquaintance! Come along--this place is bad
for you--we'll dance with the green-haired nymphs another time."

And with a light laugh he was about to turn away, when he was surprised
by a sudden, strange convulsion of Sigurd's countenance--his blue eyes
flashed with an almost phosphorescent lustre,--his pale skin flushed
deeply red, and the veins in his forehead started into swelled and
knotted prominence.

"Another time!" he screamed loudly; "no, no! Now--now! Die, robber of
Thelma's love! Die--die--_die_!"

Repeating these words like quick gasps of fury,