The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction | Page 5

many days which they spent at the inn, the interest of their
conversations never seemed to flag. They were always talking; and
always, apparently, with animation and sympathy.
On the fourth day after their arrival, I was sitting at work, at a window
which commands a view of the head of the loch, and of the mountains
on the opposite side. It was then between four and five in the afternoon;
the sun was bright, and the weather as fine as possible. The tide was out,
and, as usual, many groups of children were busied in collecting shells
and sea-weed. Among them were my two friends (for so I must call
them.) They seemed in gayer spirits than I had yet seen them; they
picked up a basket-full of shells; they set up a mark by which to watch
the receding waters; they entered into conversation with a boatman, and
strolled on till they came to the little bridge which spans a rivulet at the
head of the loch. I saw them lean over the parapet, to watch the
gurgling brook beneath. Then they turned, to survey the high mountains
above them; and after awhile, they directed their steps to the base of
one of them. I saw them gradually mount the green slope, turning every
now and then to gaze at the scene below, until I could but indistinctly
discern their figures, amidst the shadows which were beginning to
spread over the valley and the lower parts of the mountain. I knew that
the mountain which they were ascending was not often tried either by
natives or by strangers, for it was boggy and pathless; though tempting
to the eye by its verdure, and by a fine pile of rocks, which stood like a
crown on the brow of the first grand ascent.
The richest glow of the evening sun was upon the mountain's brow;
light crimson clouds were floating, as it seemed to me, just over the
head of the youth, as he mounted higher and higher--springing from
one point to another. I saw his slight form on the very ridge, though
lessened almost to a point by the distance, yet conspicuous by its
motion, and by the relief of the glowing sky behind. He disappeared. I
looked for his sister: she was still sitting on her sunny seat, while all
below was wrapped in a deep grey shadow. I laid down my glass, and

resumed my work for awhile. I looked again; she was still there, and
alone--but the sun-light was gone! I thought she looked forlorn; and I
wished her brother would return to her. Again the sun burst forth on the
mountain-top--it had only been obscured by a cloud. I saw the lady
start from her seat, and turn round. An eagle had sprung from among
the rocks: she was watching its flight--it ascended into the blue sky,
and was lost to sight. She sauntered a few steps on one side of her seat,
then on the other, and looked around her. "I wish her brother would
return to her," thought I again. She shaded her eyes with her hand, and
looked up: but vainly! The shadows had crept apace up the mountain
side: her seat was no longer sunny, but she sat down again.
I had by this time become, I knew not why, rather nervous: my hand
shook so, that I could not fix the glass. I laid it down, and went to take
a turn in my garden. I came back presently to the window, and once
more turned my glass in the direction of the mountain. The seat was
vacant. "They are coming down together, I hope," thought I. "It is high
time they should; it is becoming dark and chilly!" But I could not trace
them. At length I saw something white fluttering in the breeze. It was
so small that I should not have discerned it, if my very power of sight
had not been sharpened by the anxiety I began to feel for these young
people. By intently gazing--by straining my sight to the uttermost, I
made out that the young lady was standing on a point of rock, lower
down, and more conspicuous than that on which she had been seated.
She had tied her handkerchief to her parasol, and was waving it, no
doubt, as a signal to her brother. My heart turned sick, and I could see
no more. I looked at my watch, and found that it was nearly three hours
since they had begun their ascent. The next consideration was, what I
ought to do. If I had been certain that the brother had lost his way, it
was, no doubt, my duty to send persons from the inn, to find him. But
how