tion the glancing motion of the little
stream, running rapidly downhill along the edge, makes the path still
more dizzy. Yet the peasants coming down from Ciotti--a village above
us--use it, as it shortens the distance to town. And there are those
among the strangers too who try it, generally, I must confess, of our
race. The French and Italians say, with a shrug, 'It is only the English
and Americans who enjoy such risks.'"

"It does not look so narrow," said Janet. Then, as we exclaimed, she
added, "I mean, not wide enough for one's two feet."

"Feet," remarked Inness, in a general way, as if addressing the gorge,
"are not all of the same size."

We happened to be standing in a row, with our backs against the southern
parapet of the bridge, looking up at the little path; the result was
that eighteen feet were plainly visible on the white dust of the bridge,
and, naturally enough, at Inness's speech eighteen eyes looked downward
and noted them. There were the Professor's boots, the laced shoes of the
younger men, the comfortable foot-gear of Mrs. Clary and myself, the
broad substantial soles of Miss Elaine, and a certain dainty little pair
of high-arched, high-heeled boots, which, small as they were, were yet
quite large enough for the pretty feet they contained. I thought Miss
Elaine would be vexed; but no, not at all. It never occurred to Miss
Elaine to doubt the perfection of any of her attributes. But now Mrs.
Trescott's phaeton, which had started later, reached the bridge, and the
gorge, path, and aqueduct had to be explained to her. Lloyd undertook
this.

"I wonder how many girls have thrown themselves off that rock?" said
Janet, gazing at an isolated peak, shaped like a sugar-loaf, which
stood alone within the ravine.

"What a holocaust you imagine, Miss Trescott!" said Verney. "How could
they climb up there, to begin with?"

"I do not know. But they always do. I have never known a rock of that
kind which has succeeded in evading them," answered Janet. "They
generally call them 'Lovers' Leaps.'"

After a while we went on "to Italy," passing the square Italian
custom-house perched on its cliff, and following the road by the little
Garibaldi inn, and on towards the point of Mortola.

"This is the Italian frontier," said Verney. "In old times, during the
Prince's reign, no one could leave the domain without buying a passport;
any one, therefore, who wished to take an afternoon walk was obliged to
have one