I had by this time become, I knew not why, rather nervous: my hand shook so, that I could not fix the glass. I laid it down, and went to take a turn in my garden. I came back presently to the window, and once more turned my glass in the direction of the mountain. The seat was vacant. "They are coming down together, I hope," thought I. "It is high time they should; it is becoming dark and chilly!" But I could not trace them. At length I saw something white fluttering in the breeze. It was so small that I should not have discerned it, if my very power of sight had not been sharpened by the anxiety I began to feel for these young people. By intently gazing--by straining my sight to the uttermost, I made out that the young lady was standing on a point of rock, lower down, and more conspicuous than that on which she had been seated. She had tied her handkerchief to her parasol, and was waving it, no doubt, as a signal to her brother. My heart turned sick, and I could see no more. I looked at my watch, and found that it was nearly three hours since they had begun their ascent. The next consideration was, what I ought to do. If I had been certain that the brother had lost his way, it was, no doubt, my duty to send persons from the inn, to find him. But how did I know that any peril existed, excepting in my own imagination? He might have ascended before, and be perfectly acquainted with the descent; he might be gone in search of some particular view, and have prepared his sister for the length of his absence, as she was too much fatigued to accompany him. In this case, any interference of mine would be impertinent. What should I do? I leaned out of my window, as if in the hope of seeing some object, which should help me to a decision. Such an object was just before me, in the person of an old fisherman, a next-door neighbour, and very honest friend of mine. "Come hither, John," said I; and I stated the case to him. He thought we need not fear any danger. The mountain was not very high; he knew of no dangerous places on it; and was of opinion that there would be light enough to guide their steps half an hour longer. He advised me to leave them alone, for that time at least. I determined to do so, and sat down to my tea-table, on which I had not yet bestowed a thought. I drew it close to the window, and looked as earnestly as ever; but it was now too dark to see anything but the indistinct outlines of the mountains, and the loch gleaming in the twilight. The half-hour passed, and I had not seen them return; they might have returned without my having seen them; but I could not bear uncertainty any longer. I sent my servant to the inn, to inquire if they had arrived, and whether they had ordered tea, or given any expectation as to the time of their retain.