Ernest was tranquilly, but deeply happy. His discovery of his infirmity had served rather to humble than to depress him. If he had less confidence now in himself, he had more than ever in his Saviour; and what sweet security came with the thought that it was on no arm of flesh that he rested! He who had loved him would love to the end. _This God is our God for ever and ever, He will be our guide unto death._ With holy and happy thoughts for his companions, Fontonore wandered to the little bridge. It struck him, before he set his foot upon it, that it looked decayed and injured by the weather. He stooped down to examine the rough timber, between the chinks of which he could see the stream flowing darkly and rapidly by. A very brief survey strengthened his suspicion that the bridge was in a dangerous state. “I will not attempt to cross it,” said Ernest to himself, “though it is the nearest way to Silvermere. I must speak to Mr. Searle, and have it repaired. I think that the property belongs to him. The long winter has made the wood decay; and yet, from a little distance, it looks safe and beautiful as ever. To rest our hopes of heaven upon our works, however fair in man’s eyes they might appear, would be like trusting our safety to that frail timber, and first learning our danger by our fall.” Before he quitted the spot, Ernest wished to climb to the top of the highest crag that rose above the cataract, as he from thence would command a view over Silvermere: perhaps he might even see Mr. Ewart in the distance. The path which led to the height was very narrow and winding, encumbered with thicket and difficult of access, but the prospect from the summit more than repaid all the trouble of the ascent. An expanse of beautiful country spread around: here cattle were grazing in hedge-bordered fields of emerald velvet spangled with buttercups and daisies; there stretched woods, clad in the light garb of spring, whence the note of the cuckoo rose musical and soft; hills, blue in the distance, were seen to the north; and pretty hamlets, or farm-houses, embosomed in trees, with a little church spire pointing towards heaven, gave the interest of life to the scene. Ernest looked down from his lofty crag, clothed with shrubs and wild rock-creepers almost to its summit, upon the fair prospect below. The Castle of Fontonore looked so small in the distance that it was almost hidden from view by a hovel that stood on a hill between. The banner on the flag-staff seemed a mere blue speck which the eye could hardly distinguish.