and clambering down the natural steps it had cut in its rocky bed.
Throwing the reins over the pony's head, and leaving him with the dog
Pontac to stand and stare about him as South African shooting ponies
are accustomed to do, he laid down his gun and game and proceeded to
descend, pausing every now and again to admire the wild beauty of the
scene and examine the hundred varieties of moss and ferns, the last
mostly of the maiden-hair (_Capillus Veneris_) genus, that clothed every
cranny and every rock where they could find foothold and win refreshment
from the water or the spray of the cascades. As he drew near the bottom
of the gorge he saw that on the borders of the stream, wherever the soil
was moist, grew thousands upon thousands of white arums, "pig lilies" as
they call them in Africa, which were now in full bloom. He had noticed
these lilies from above, but thence, owing to the distance, they seemed
so small that he took them for everlastings or anemones. John could not
see Jess now, for she was hidden by a bush that grows on the banks of
the streams in South Africa in low-lying land, and which at certain
seasons of the year is completely covered with masses of the most
gorgeous scarlet bloom. His footsteps fell very softly on the moss
and flowers, and when he passed round the glorious-looking bush it was
evident that she had not heard him, for she was asleep. Her hat was
off, but the bush shaded her, and her head had fallen forward over
her sketching block and rested upon her hand. A ray of light that came
through the bush played over her curling brown hair, and threw warm
shadows on her white face and the whiter wrist and hand by which it was
supported.

John stood there and looked at her, and the old curiosity took
possession of him to understand this feminine enigma. Many a man before
him has been the victim of a like desire, and lived to regret that he
did not leave it ungratified. It is not well to try to lift the curtain