The party began to straggle. Mary, sound of wind and limb, light-footed and active, was in front with the guide. Peter and Wallowby toiled closely behind, the latter showing the first signs of distress in shortening breath, and handkerchief applied occasionally to his brow. Mrs. Sangster followed in steady mechanical fashion. Her fifty odd summers had no doubt impaired the elasticity of her frame, but had left behind a fund of tough endurance and sturdy will, which did very well in its stead. Sophia and Roderick brought up the rear, the coolest and calmest of the party. Her fine physique made the exertion both light and pleasant, and her tranquil soul supplied a wellspring of inward coolness, which even hill-climbing was unable to overheat, while Roderick by her side among the sunshine and the ever-widening view, walked on air, held forth at will, and dreamed aloud in words overflowingly; while his placid companion smiled and looked at him out of her beautiful eyes, listening, and sometimes understanding what he said. The path became steeper after a while, and Mrs. Sangster stopped to take breath, looking around the while for the others. Mary and the young men were perched upon a rock high over her head, and when she looked down Roderick and Sophia came calmly following her. It seemed too much that Mary should monopolize not only Peter (though that was well enough), but also the wealthy party from Manchester, who had been sent by Providence, as she still thought, to open a larger sphere of usefulness to her daughter; meaning really, if self-delusion would ever let us speak plainly to ourselves, a carriage and pair and a handsome establishment. The ice between the two had been hard to break, what better way could there be to thaw it, than the small difficulties and adventures of a mountain ramble? And here the stupid girl was letting her opportunity escape, and trifling it away with a young man whom she could beckon to her side any day, and could always fall back upon if more ambitious aims did not succeed. A more worldly or a more single-minded mamma would no doubt have spoken plainly to her daughter, and so might have influenced that not very perspicuous person more effectually, but Mrs. Sangster had the misfortune to be looking two ways at once, or like the boatman in the _Pilgrim's Progress_, she looked one way while she pulled the other. She loved and appreciated the good things of the world, as thoroughly as any one, but at the same time she was wont to say, and to really think that she thought they were a snare, or dross, in comparison with higher interests. She could not bring her tongue to frame such advice to her daughter as would in any way derogate from true religion, or the old-fashioned 'true, true love,' she had thought and sang of in her own youth. She could only suggest and influence in a half-ashamed sort of way. But she was disappointed and mortified that a daughter of hers should be so wanting in common sense. After all the