Chapter XXXV

"Love thee! words have no meaning to my deep love;
It hath purged me from the weakness of my sex,
And made me new create in thee. Love thee!
I had not lived until I knew thee."

On arriving at the hotel, Florence retired to her room, which she found vacant, and learned Ellen had joined a party on an excursion to Mount Willard, one of the loftiest peaks of the Crawford Notch, to whose summit there is a carriage road.

She drew forth her journal, and, sitting down beside the window, commenced to write.

Nimbly the golden pen sped over the spotless page, leaving a train of sprightly thoughts behind it, while the bright face glowed and sparkled with the buoyant happiness of the soul within.

"I feel like one just dropped from the clouds," she wrote, "and I should be inconsolable at my sudden descent from the august abode of eternal sublimities to the grovelling haunts of care and discontent, but that a sun-soaring spirit companioned and illumined my fall.

"I have stood above the clouds that swept the brows of lofty surrounding mountains, and seen _that star of mine_ rise sweet and clear upon my earnest vision, and felt my long-chilled heart grow warm and glad beneath its beaming rays of light and love. I toiled up the miraculous steeps of hoary-headed, granite-crowned Mount Washington, to realize a double joy. The stern, gloomy grandeur was alone sufficient to awaken my profoundest awe, my strongest admiration; but a warm heart-happiness stole over me, which spread a mantling glory over all the thousand dark-browed mountains that loomed in their awful majesty on every side.

"And ever, till my heart has ceased to beat, though I should roam in foreign lands, along the castled Rhine, or beneath the sunny skies of classic Italy, Mount Washington will be to me the glory of the earth! For, standing on its granite piles, while sunrise pierced the gloomy valleys far below, a love nestled warmly to my bosom, with which I would not part for India's wealth of gems. How rich am I in the knowledge of Edgar's love! My soul is strong and firm as the mountains where my joy was born. Shall I ever tremble or waver again? Am I not mailed in armor to meet unshocked the battling swords and lances of life's armied legions of cares and sorrows? With Edgar's love to nerve my soul, what is there that I cannot endure? Surely, I could survive all things save separation from him; and is not this the one which will be demanded of my strength?

"But I will not mar my happiness by dark forebodings of the future. Let me enjoy the sunshine while it lasts. What shall I say to my father?--what will he say to me when he learns who was the companion of my lonely mountain stroll, and the rider at my bridle-rein during all the long, dangerous descent? I fear he will be angry and hurry me away immediately; and yet, with his discrimination, I think he must discern the vast superiority of Edgar Lindenwood to that low-bred, mean-souled Malcome.

"But it is time this record should end, for twilight approaches, and the shadows of the great mountains darken over the valley."

She closed her journal just as Ellen Williams, returned from her excursion, burst into the room. She flung her arms around Florence, and covered her with frantic kisses.

"O, I am so glad to have you safely back!" she exclaimed; "I feared I should never behold you again. How did you live through a night like last on that dreadful mountain-top?"

"We had a comfortable shelter," said Florence, returning her friend's warm embraces.

"Did you wish you were down here in the valley, when the awful storm overtook you?"

"No, indeed," answered Florence; "my courage rose above all difficulties. O, Ellen! you know not what you lost, when, chilled by the blasts that swept Mount Franklin, you grew discouraged and turned back."

"So Ned tells me," said Ellen; "but I saw sublimity enough from Mount Willard to fill my little soul with rapture, though I had no artist-companion at my side to point out the grandest views to my untaught vision."

Here she fixed an arch glance on Florence, who blushed slightly as she said:

"I do not understand your quizzical looks."

"Probably not," returned Ellen, in a pleasant, bantering tone; "and if I should tell you Mr. Lindenwood, the young artist of whom I spoke to you at Niagara, had made his appearance in these regions, no doubt you would express appropriate surprise at the information. However, your father has been impressed with his appearance, and sought an introduction. I saw them in the parlor but a moment since, engaged in conversation."

"Is it possible?" said Florence, her eyes lighting with pleasure.

"Why, very possible," returned Ellen, "and they seemed mutually pleased with each other. Come, let us make ready and go down. I promised Ned to return in five minutes."

The young ladies descended to the parlor, where Florence beheld her father standing before a table, with Edgar at his side, examining a volume of engravings.

She approached softly, when Major Howard turned, and introduced his companion as "Mr. Lindenwood, a former acquaintance of hers, who was visiting the mountains for the purpose of sketching views, and obtaining geological specimens."

Florence saw at once, by her father's words and manner, that he did not suspect Edgar's identity with the muffled figure which had been her companion on the mountains; and, bowing politely, expressed her "pleasure at again meeting Mr. Lindenwood."

Ellen and her brother joined them, and the evening passed in pleasant rehearsals of the wonders and adventures of their late expedition to the "realms of upper air."

As Major Howard led his daughter to the door of her apartment, he remarked: "That young Lindenwood is a fine fellow. I declare, I never thought that wild hermit's boy would grow into a refined, polished gentleman. You hardly recognized him, did you, Florence?"

"He is very much changed in his appearance," said she, briefly.

"Certainly he is," returned her father; "one seldom meets a handsomer fellow. He tells me there is a great deal of fine scenery through a place called the Franconia Notch. He is going there in a few days to complete some sketches. I think we will join him: now we are here, we may as well see all there is to be seen;--unless you wish to go home," he added, finding his daughter silent in regard to the proposed excursion.

"I wish to go home?" exclaimed she, suddenly; "if you remain here till that time comes, your head will be white as the snows of these northern winters."

Laughing at her enthusiasm for mountains, he kissed her cheek and retired.