Just as the last sheet of agitated ice was disappearing in the
distance, the eagles rose, and soared with a wide sweep above the
clouds, while the waves tossed their little caps of snow in the air,
as if rioting in their release from a thraldom of five minutes’
duration.

The following morning Elizabeth was awakened by the exhilarating
sounds of the martens, who were quarrelling and chattering around the
little boxes suspended above her windows, and the cries of Richard,
who was calling in tones animating as signs of the season itself:

“Awake! awake! my fair lady! the gulls are hovering over the lake
already, and the heavens are alive with pigeons. You may look an hour
before you can find a hole through which to get a peep at the sun.
Awake! awake! lazy ones’ Benjamin is overhauling the ammunition, and
we only wait for our breakfasts, and away for the mountains and
pigeon-shooting.”

There was no resisting this animated appeal, and in a few minutes Miss
Temple and her friend descended to the parlor. The doors of the hall
were thrown open, and the mild, balmy air of a clear spring morning
was ventilating the apartment, where the vigilance of the ex-steward
had been so long maintaining an artificial heat with such unremitted
diligence. The gentlemen were impatiently waiting for their morning’s
repast, each equipped in the garb of a sportsman. Mr. Jones made many
visits to the southern door, and would cry:

“See, Cousin Bess! see, ‘Duke, the pigeon-roosts of the south have
broken up! They are growing more thick every instant, Here is a flock
that the eye cannot see the end of. There is food enough in it to