‘I can’t think what should have put it in papa’s head,’ she added; ‘for he does not care much for scenery. I fancy he wants to make the most of poor me, and so takes me the grand tour. He wanted to come without mamma, but she said we were not to be trusted alone. She had to give in when we took to horseback, though.’ It was getting late, and Mr Coningham came out to find us. ‘It is quite time we were going,’ he said. ‘In fact we are too late now. The horses are ready, and your clothes are dry, Mr Cumbermede. I have felt them all over.’ ‘How kind of you, sir!’ I said. ‘Nonsense! Why should any one want another to get his death of cold? If you are to keep alive, it’s better to keep well as long as ever you can. Make haste, though, and change your clothes.’ I hurried away, followed by Clara’s merry laugh at my clumsy gait. In a few moments I was ready. Mr Coningham had settled my bill for me. Mother and daughter gave me a kind farewell, and I exhausted my German in vain attempts to let them know how grateful I was for their goodness. There was not much time, however, to spend even on gratitude. The sun was nearly down, and I could see Clara mounted and waiting for me before the window. I found Mr Coningham rather impatient. ‘Come along, Mr Cumbermede; we must be off,’ he said. ‘Get up there.’ ‘You _have_ grown, though, after all,’ said Clara. ‘I thought it might be only the petticoats that made you look so tall.’ I got on the horse which the guide, a half-witted fellow from the next valley, was holding for me, and we set out. The guide walked beside my horse, and Mr Coningham beside Clara’s. The road was level for a little way, but it soon turned up on the hill where I had been wandering, and went along the steep side of it. ‘Will this do for a precipice, Clara?’ said her father. ‘Oh! dear no,’ she answered; ‘it’s not worth the name. It actually slopes outward.’ ‘Before we got down to the next level stretch it began again to rain. A mist came on, and we could see but a little way before us. Through the mist came the sound of the bells of the cattle upon the hill. Our guide trudged carefully but boldly on. He seemed to know every step of the way. Clara was very cool, her father a little anxious, and very attentive to his daughter, who received his help with a never-failing merry gratitude, making light of all annoyances. At length we came down upon the better road, and travelled on with more comfort. ‘Look, Clara!’ I said, ‘will that do?’ ‘What is it?’ she asked, turning her head in the direction in which I pointed. On our right, through the veil, half of rain, half of gauzy mist, which filled the air, arose a precipice indeed--the whole bulk it was of the Eiger mountain, which the mist brought so near that it seemed literally to overhang the road. Clara looked up for a moment, but betrayed no sign of awe. ‘Yes, I think that will do,’ she said. ‘Though you are only at the foot of it?’ I suggested.