“You have no idea what you are proposing. It is quite impossible for you to ascend that hill. There is no path, and the side is terribly steep—it would be dangerous to attempt such a thing.” “Dangerous!” Her lip curls. “Everything is dangerous, except walking on level ground—and even then one might fall in the river. I know I can climb up there—and I mean to do it!” “Bravo, Miss Norwood!” cries an unexpected voice—the voice of a gay young widow, who has been devoting her fascinations to Eric. “If you succeed, I’ll follow you.” “Had you not better come with me, Mrs. Cardigan?” says Sylvia. “Perhaps, after we have made the ascent, some of the gentlemen may feel it safe to follow.” “More likely we shall be obliged to go below and gather up your fragments,” says one of the gentlemen, composedly. “Yes, I believe I will go with you,” says Mrs. Cardigan. “It is very stupid to do no more than hundreds of other people have done.” “That sentiment has been the cause of more foolish risks than could be reckoned,” says Eric, “but if you are in earnest about climbing the hill—and are not afraid of a sunstroke—I’ll take you up.” “Thank you,” says Mrs. Cardigan, graciously. “People never have sunstrokes in the mountains, I believe.—Well, Miss Norwood, are you ready?” Yes, Sylvia says she is ready, and she rises without a glance at her companion. But that unhappy man rises also, with an heroic attempt to look cheerful. “I haven’t an idea that you can reach the top—and I’m sure you’ll be sorry that you made the attempt,” he says; “but of course I’ll do my best to take you up.” “Pray don’t come on my account,” says Sylvia. “I need very little assistance in climbing.” This is not very gracious encouragement to overheat himself in the most unpleasant manner, besides risking his neck; but Mr. Lanier feels that he is put upon his mettle, and he will not recede. “Lead the way, Markham,” he says. “You understand this business of scrambling over rocks and swinging to bushes better than I do.” “Eric shall _not_ lead the way!” cries Sylvia, springing forward. “I made the proposal, and I insist upon going first.” Poor Mr. Lanier! It is impossible not to laugh at the glance with which he regards the height before him as he follows the young lady, who—with her riding-skirt looped to her ankles—takes her way along the neck of land which connects the rock with the mountain. “How much energy Miss Norwood has!” says Miss Hollis, with a little shudder. “I do not think I should like to be her escort—on a mountain.” “She certainly puts Lanier through a course of exercise which he would not be likely to undertake of himself,” says a sympathetic gentleman. “I’m sorry for the fellow, and I shouldn’t be surprised if she broke his neck and her own too.”