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