Passing through the streets of London one day, he observed Madeline in a carriage with the lady whom she styled Lady Alice--it was evidently a nobleman's carriage by the coronet on the pannels. He sighed as he thought of the great distance between them socially, but could not resist the opportunity of watching the carriage, which stopped at the door of a store; the ladies dismounted, and entered the store; waiting for them to return to the carriage, Roland inquired whose carriage it was, and the direction of their residence. Having obtained information, he walked to the spot, and saw the elegant mansion where Madeline was staying--what folly! thought he, to suppose that she can ever regard me in any other light than an humble friend; but it is a pleasure to see her. He had not stood many minutes, ere he perceived a lady's form standing near the drawing-room window; she looked out, but not observing Roland, who stood concealed behind a tree. Soon he heard voices, for the window was open; and in a few minutes more, the rich melody of Madeline's notes, singing a new and brilliant piece. He stood sorrowfully, for why should he thus haunt her dwelling to hang upon a voice, which the friendship of early days had given him a right to hear still in the intimate communion of a congenial spirit. It seemed a cold barrier of society which thus shut him out, and which he sometimes felt he must dare to batter down. The season was passing rapidly; and Roland began to prepare for his northern tour. Edmund had concluded to accompany him, for he had not made the progress in Madeline's acquaintance that he desired. His journey through England was truly delightful--like a beautiful garden, every corner was highly cultivated; gentlemen's country seats, noblemen's splendid palaces and parks, picturesque villages, and shady, green lanes everywhere met his eye, and though unlike the grand features of American scenery, the panorama had all the charm of a lovely picture of domestic ease and elegance, the charm which dwells so especially among English homes. Stopping awhile at the Lakes of Westmoreland, they explored its exquisite beauties, so often the subject of the painter's pencil, and the poet's pen; and passing on, travelled more rapidly, until they reached Edinburgh; visiting many spots of historic interest. Roland stayed a few days, and then turned his face towards his native hills, leaving Edmund in Edinburgh, until he should hear from him. CHAPTER XXII. MIST ON THE MOUNTAIN. November, with its chilly winds, finds Roland a traveller in Scotland. He has the directions given by his mother, and has to cross a mountain region in a stage, ere he reaches his native village. It is a lonely journey, for he is the only passenger; and a heavy Scotch mist is rapidly falling over the dreary landscape; distant mountains are first enveloped, then trees and bushes, and last even the scattered houses along the road-side, until all is darkness and gloom.