The next morning was perfectly calm, and the lake as serene as if no
storm had been dashing its water in huge breakers against the beach
only a few hours before. The view from the sitting-room was lovely:
just beneath the window there was a little lawn, as green as
possible from the spray with which the lake had washed it yesterday;
beyond this a low hedge, an open meadow, a fringe of white pebbly
beach, and then a wide expanse of water within one little wooded
island, and shut in gradually from our view by spurs of hills
running down to the shore, sometimes in bold steep cliffs, and again
in gentle declivities, with little strips of bush or scrub growing
in the steep gullies between them. The lake extends some way beyond
where we lose sight of it, being twelve miles long and four miles
broad. A few yards from the beach it is over six hundred feet deep.
Nothing but a painting could give you any idea of the blue of sky
and water that morning; the violent wind of yesterday seemed to have
blown every cloud below the horizon, for I could not see the least
white film anywhere. Behind the lower hills which surround the lake
rises a splendid snowy range; altogether, you cannot imagine a more
enchanting prospect than the one I stood and looked at; it made me
think of Miss Procter's lines--

"My eyes grow dim,
As still I gaze and gaze
Upon that mountain pass,
That leads--or so it seems--
To some far happy land
Known in a world of dreams."

All this time, whilst I was looking out of the window in most
unusual idleness, Mr. H--- and F--- were making constant journeys