Frederick Lanier grew red even to the tips of his ears with embarrassed indignation at thus having the most cherished secret of his heart rudely laid bare to the light of common day. He became only the more determined to escape, where he could dwell in peace on the one idea that engrossed all his thoughts. "When do you think of leaving?" asked Emily. "To-morrow," he replied. "And Bessie comes the day after. And when will you return?" "Perhaps by the last week in August." "And Bessie will be gone by that time. It is too bad!" "I do not understand what Bessie Graham has to do with my movements. I might change my plans to suit you, Emily, but not a little chattering thing like your friend." Emily said nothing; she had had schemes of her own, and Frederick had completely destroyed them, but she deigned no explanation. "I think of going along the Hudson River until I reach the northern extremity of the State, when I shall cross over to the Green Mountains in Vermont, and go through that State into New Hampshire. I hope to find myself at the foot of the White Mountains by the middle of July." "The very time Miss Marshall expects to arrive there. She is going on horseback with her brother. Her mother and sister are to accompany them in the carriage." "Ah!" said Frederick, endeavoring, in a most transparently artful manner, to appear ignorant and indifferent. "If you are going so soon," said his aunt, "we had better see if your wardrobe is in a fit state for so long an absence." "I shall need very little," replied Frederick; "the less the better, as I intend to carry it myself." "I have a little light valise I can lend you," said a cousin of his, John Williams, who happened to be passing the evening there. The offer was accepted, and the rest of the time was passed in discussing the many delightful and romantic adventures that pedestrian tourists have met with both in Europe and America. With a heart full of hope and joyous expectation, Frederick took his valise and a stout stick, with which all prudent pedestrians provide themselves, and saw with delight the dusty pavements merging into the dustier road, and the houses becoming more and more widely separated. He had intended to choose the byways rather than the main road, and to make it convenient to stop at farm-houses instead of the country taverns along his route, thinking by this means to be able to see more of the people, and to gain a little insight into habits and customs with which he felt as though he ought to be somewhat more familiar. He had anticipated a great deal of pleasure from the variety of character and mode of life which would thus be brought under his notice; but his first attempt proved so unsatisfactory, that he gave up all farther idea of intruding on the privacy of those who were unprepared for receiving strangers.