nd profoundly
moved. He felt that in the presence of this pure, angelic woman he
could never again do an unworthy act. A life work, up to the standard of
his highest ideal, was a tribute of devotion he would willingly lay at
her feet.

All too soon for Fillmore Flagg the moments flew by. Almost before he
was aware of it they were ascending the steps of the hotel. Pausing on
the broad veranda for a moment before separating, Fern Fenwick said:
"Gentlemen, Mrs. Bainbridge and myself have planned for a carriage drive
to-morrow to Sam's Point. We have two seats in our conveyance at your
disposal and would be delighted to have you accompany us. May we hope
that you both can come with us?"

Fillmore Flagg and George Gaylord both eagerly accepted the invitation,
the ladies passed on to their rooms, while the young men turned their
steps once more to the rustic bench to enjoy the magnificent sunset view
of the landscape they had so much admired earlier in the day.

CHAPTER IV.

THE STORY OF A STONE AND WHAT CAME AFTER.

Sam's Point, the crowning backbone of the highest mountain in the
Shawangunk range, bends away from the general course of its fellows
apparently for the especial purpose of giving the mountain climber, by
its isolation, a commanding view in almost every direction except to the
north-east. For miles in extent the flat, rocky top of this crown forms
a promenade of magnificent proportions up amid the clouds. In shape it
is a long, slender triangle, about three miles from its base westward to
the point where its highest altitude is reached, two thousand three
hundred and forty feet above tide-water. Cradled in its rocky bosom,
near the base of the triangle, lies a crystal lake--one hundred and
fifty acres of sparkling water. At this point the promenade is fully
three-fourths of a mile wide, gradually narrowing to a width of less
than one hundred feet at the extreme point. The long battlemented sides
of this lofty triangle, like some mighty fortress, grim and frowning,
are protected and supported by perpendicular cliffs of black rock,
rising like some bastioned wall of terrifying proportions, two hundred
feet above the shoulder of the mountain. In a sheltered nook, near the
point, about five hundred feet below the base of the cliffs, stands the
Sam's Point Hotel, scarcely more than a cottage in size. Here Fern
Fenwick's party left the carriage. Taking the narrow, zig-zag pathway
that led to the cliffs an