A few days saw them located on the cliffs of Ventnor, overlooking the ship-studded sea, and amid the lively stir of gay summer visitors. Elizabeth Drury put forth all her powers of vivacity and entertainment. She showed her friend about, strolled with her along the margin of the sounding, dashing waves, read to her, and engaged horses on which to range the coast and the hills in every direction, from Sandown to Blackgang Chine, from St. Laurence’s minikin church to Appuldercombe, Godshill, or the ruins of Carisbrook. They had a handsome villa to themselves standing in a pleasant shrubbery, overlooking the town and sea, and out of the way of the general traffic. They could be in a crush or a solitude at pleasure. Under the guidance of Elizabeth Drury, and cheered by her buoyant spirit, which loved to look on the bright side of things as much as possible, and with her mind full of knowledge and amusing anecdote, Millicent began to breathe more freely, and to recover strength of frame, if not much greater peace of mind. There were letters frequently from London, the greater part of which she gave Elizabeth to read. They came from the Misses Barrington, regretting that her health was not strong, and saying, that their brother would be down to see her in a few days, and if she stayed much longer, they should come down in a flock to see whether they could not help nature to recover her spring. Millicent was evidently greatly excited, and that pleasurably, by the prospect of seeing Edmund Barrington, and Elizabeth Drury was curious to see the man who had been able to supplant Dr. Leroy. But they were destined to receive another visit before that of Edmund Barrington. Elizabeth had proposed the very next day to take a ride through Niton, and up to the tower of St. Catherine. They went alone. Elizabeth knew the way, and like a most experienced groom opened gates in ascending the fields from Niton to the top of the hill where the tower stands. They had reached the summit of the hill, and taken a delighted survey of the vast prospect over sea and land which it gave; the rocks along the winding coast, over which the milk-white waves were lashing; St. Catherine’s lighthouse below; the sweep of shore on towards Alum Bay and Freshwater, and the tamer interior of the island. Tying their horses to the gate leading into the field in which the tower stands, they first examined that empty and desolate object, which is familiar to the mariner so many leagues at sea. They then sat down on the mossy turf amid the scattered furze bushes, and enjoyed the scent of the native sward and the simple wild-flowers, and the peaceful scene of nature spread beneath their eye; the green corn waving on the slopes, the white flocks grazing silently on the down-like pastures. All at once they heard the hollow tramp of an approaching horse on the hill behind them. They sprang up, and observed a gentleman riding towards them. “Mr. Barrington! it must be Mr. Barrington!” exclaimed