“Yonder is the great range of the Balsam,” says Eric, pointing to the most prominent chain, the dark-blue masses of which overlook the wooded hills and smiling plains of the foreground. “Behind are the Cullowhee and the Nantahala. Here on the left is the Blue Ridge, while far and faint in the west are the peaks of the Smoky, with Georgia and Tennessee behind.” How infinitely beautiful it all is! The tints on the vast array of mountains run through the gamut of colors, from rich purple to palest blue. The atmosphere is so clear that beyond the gaps of the Blue Ridge we see the misty plain of South Carolina stretching away southward. The jewel-like day reveals the scene in all its loveliness, yet the picture does not lack the softness that only shadows give. Far off in the west, among the rugged heights and dark passes of the Balsam, a cloud is discharging itself between us and the sun, while the rays of the latter, striking through the falling rain, light it up to indescribable glory. Over Pisgah and the mountains that divide Transylvania from Haywood, great masses of soft white clouds are lying, wrapping here and there the summits of the peaks, and a silver haze—half cloud, half mist—drapes the outlines of the distant Smoky. “If you were here in the morning you would see the sun strike the shining side of the Looking-Glass Mountain yonder,” says Mr. Brandon, pointing over Brevard. “I wish we _could_ see the sun rise!” says Sylvia. “Can’t we stay all night, as we did on the Black Mountain?” “Would you like to bivouac in the open air?” asks Eric. “I should not object,” she answers; “but is there no way of getting _into_ the Castle Rock?” “I am sorry to say that we have not yet discovered the way,” Mr. Brandon replies. “Perhaps if we struck the side of it and said ‘_Open sesame_,’ a door might swing back,” says Mrs. Cardigan. “But the people who went into such places under such circumstances were generally unable to come out again, weren’t they?” asks Mr. Lanier. “That would not be encouraging.” “We’ll go and try the experiment at any rate,” says Charley. “If we mean to ascend the rock, we have no time to spare. The sun will set in half an hour—or less time.” “And there is going to be a gorgeous sunset,” says Sylvia, looking at the marshaling clouds. “Let us stay for it!” “Just as you like,” says Charley. “The sunset or the rock. Choose between them—for you can’t have both.” “Put it to the vote,” cries Rupert. It is put to the vote, and the rock carries the day. Only Mr. Lanier votes for the sunset—partly from indolence, partly to please Sylvia. That young lady rewards him by saying that after all she prefers the ascent of the rock. “That will be adventurous,” she remarks. “This is only beautiful.”