Mirror Lake—­well-named—­was asleep still, and dreaming of the mountains which imprisoned it as dragons used to imprison princesses in glass retorts.  There was the dream, lying deep down and visible under the clear surface; and when every one else had gone off to the trail ponies, Nick and Angela stayed to watch the water’s waking.  It was a darting fish which, with a splash and a ripple, shattered the picture; but the ripple died, and the lake slept again, taking up its dream where it had been broken off, as Angela had tried to do.  She had failed, for her picture had changed for the worse when she found it again; but the second dream of Mirror Lake was fairer than the first.  Into it there stole a joyous luminance which made saints’ haloes for the reflected heads of mountains.  The sun rose, and stepped slowly into the water’s dream.  It flung the lake a golden loving cup, thrilling it to the heart with that bright gift.

A little farther on, by the Happy Isles—­small, lovely islands of rock in the river’s whirl—­Nick and Angela found their trail ponies waiting in charge of a boy.  But Nick knew the trail well, and was to be the sole guide, as they had always planned.  He put Angela up on an intelligent brown bronco, which had to be ridden Mexican fashion; and they set off together, the boy looking after them as if he, too, would have liked to follow the trail.

Far ahead they could see the procession of their lost companions, just rounding a sharp corner.  They were an admirable cavalcade in khaki, the men wearing sombreros, the girls with brilliant blue or green veils tied over big hats, and scarlet silk handkerchiefs knotted at their necks.  The gaily coloured figures on horse or mule back fitted the picture as appropriately as if they had been Indians; and Angela gazed at them with pleasure; but she felt no wish to join the band.

Nick led; she rode close behind, sometimes mounting, sometimes descending the narrow trail toward Glacier Point.  By and by Hall Dome, one of the great granite mountains, began to dominate the world; but though the cascades were in his kingdom they could not be governed by him, because spirits are not ruled by earthly kings.  There was Vernal Fall, gentle in majesty; and Nevada, a wild and untamed water spirit; and retrospect glimpses of the Yosemite Falls.

Close to Nevada, they reached a famous viewpoint, and Nick took Angela off her pony that she might stand near the edge and see the white torrent plunge over an unthinkable abyss.  Always she had hated to look down from heights, because they made her long to jump and end everything.  But to-day she was in love with life, and the leap of the waters quickened her heart with a sense of power.  On the pony again, as they went up and up, or down steep rocky ways on the verge of sheer abysses, she had no fear.  She seemed to be learning a lesson of peace, a lesson such as only unspoiled nature can teach.

[Illustration:  “The world was a sea, billowing with mountains”]