A few days after, Mr. Frazier and Edith set out on their journey. London was their first stopping-place, and several very busy days were spent there, while Edith, with the vivid interest of one to whom almost everything in that vast and crowded city was strange and new, visited the many places of interest and note within it. While they were standing in St. Paul's, the stranger who had attracted their attention in Hillcomb, their own village, a few days before, passed them with a look of evident recognition. They met again while going over Westminster Abbey; and it so happened that they were at the same time paying to the genius of Shakspeare the homage of a visit to his grave at Stratford, and that they passed each other again while strolling over the grounds around Newstead Abbey. By this time they had advanced so far on the way to acquaintanceship, that, when they again encountered each other near the lakes in Westmoreland, the home of so many of the poets of England, a bow was the almost involuntary mark of recognition. English reserve and shyness might have prevented any more intimate intercourse, but for an accident that happened to Edith in Scotland. Mr. Frazier, finding that the cool and bracing air of that country had as favorable an effect on his daughter's health as the wild and romantic scenery had on her mind, and being pleased with a quiet country inn which he had found, proposed that they should make it their home for two or three weeks. They could not have found a pleasanter resting-place, for Lock Lomond was spread out in its calm serenity at their feet, and Ben Lomond towered in savage grandeur above their heads. The first person whom they recognized on taking their seats at the table of the inn was the stranger whom they had met so frequently. Edith could not repress a smile as she shyly returned the stranger's salutation, at the chance that seemed to take such a whimsical pleasure in thus bringing them together. A few days after, while walking with her father in the rude paths on the side of the mountain, she strayed a little way from him when he stopped to admire the scene from some particularly favorable point of view; and when she attempted to return, she found herself, to her dismay, so perplexed by the intricate windings of the paths that she was at a loss which to take. She called to her father and heard his voice in reply, but it grew fainter and fainter, until, at last, it could no longer be discerned. Becoming aware that every step she took only led her farther from home, she stopped to see if she could not in some way distinguish the right path. But she was so utterly bewildered that she found it to be impossible. She thought that the only thing that was left for her to do was to remain stationary; in that way she would, at least, avoid the danger of falling into the mountain streams around, or down any of the precipices.