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