Chapter XXXVI

"Most wondrous vision! The broad earth hath not,
Through all her bounds, an object like to thee,
That travellers e'er recorded. Nor a spot
More fit to stir the poet's phantasy;
Grey Old Man of the Mountain, awfully
There, from thy wreath of clouds thou dost uprear
Those features grand,--the same eternally!
Lone dweller 'mid the hills! with gaze austere
Thou lookest down, methinks, on all below thee here."

At the Flume House, three weeks later, we find our little party of travellers, all in apparently fine spirits and delighted enjoyment of the wild, enchanting scenery of the Franconia Notch.

"Well, Lindenwood, what do you intend to show us next?" asked Major Howard, as the group disposed themselves on the sofas of their own private parlor for an evening of rest and quiet, after a day passed in visits to different objects in the vicinity. "I declare these mountains will exhaust me entirely, and I shall be obliged to go away without beholding one half of their alleged wonders."

Young Williams laughed and said, "You are not half as good a traveller as your daughter, major. Instead of looking worn and fatigued by her repeated rambles, she seems more fresh and blooming than on our first arrival."

"Yes," returned the father, looking affectionately on his daughter, "she thrives wonderfully on mountains. I recollect, when we stood on the freezing summit of Washington, she expressed a wish to burrow among its rocks and pass a life-time there, listening to the winds o' nights, and other like charming diversions."

"I did not think her disposition so solitary," remarked young Williams.

"O, she was not going to dwell alone! She wanted one companion to share her habitation. I don't know who it was,--perhaps you were the doomed one!"

"I dare not presume to think Miss Florence would select me for a doom so blissful," returned he, gallantly. "Her choice would fall on some of my more fortunate neighbors."

"Rather say _un_fortunate," said Florence, coloring; "for in that light I think most people would regard the prospect of a life passed amid the clouds and storms of Mount Washington."

"Would you thus regard it, Lindenwood?" inquired young Williams, turning his gaze upon Edgar.

"I don't know," returned the latter. "It might prove an agreeable summer-home; but I think I would want to fly away on the approach of winter."

Major Howard drew forth his guide-book and occupied himself turning over the pages a few moments.

"We have achieved the Flume, the Pool, and the Basin to-day," said he at length. "Say, Lindenwood, where shall we go to-morrow? You are the pioneer of the band."

"I have thought, should the day prove fine," answered he, "it would be pleasant to make an excursion to the summit of Mount Lafayette, or the 'Great Haystack' mountain, as it is sometimes called, which lies several miles west from this point."

"More mountains towering before us! When shall we have done with them?" said the major, in a lugubrious tone. "How high is this Haystack you speak of?"

"But seven hundred feet less than Mount Washington," answered Edgar.

"O dear!" groaned the major. "Heaven save me from attempting the ascension! Can we do nothing better than tear our clothes and bruise our shins among brushwood and bridle-paths; clambering up to the sky just to stare about us a few moments, and then tumbling down headlong, as it were, to the valleys again?"

"Well," said Edgar, "if the Great Haystack intimidates you, suppose we ride up through the Notch, and visit the 'Old Man.'"

"What old man?" asked the major.

"The Old Man of the Mountain!"

"I should have no objection to calling on the old fellow," returned Major Howard, "if he did not live on a mountain; but I cannot think of climbing up any more of these prodigious steeps,--even to see a king in his regal palace."

A burst of laughter followed the major's misapprehension of the object which Lindenwood had proposed to visit.

"It is not a man of flesh and blood we are to see, father," said Florence, as soon as she could command her voice sufficiently to speak, "but a granite profile, standing out from a peak of solid rock, exactly resembling the features of a man's face; whence its name, 'Old Man of the Mountain.'"

"Ay, that's all, then!" said the major, referring to his guidebook. "I shall be very glad of the privilege of standing on the ground for once and looking up at an object; for I confess it afflicts my kindly-affectioned nature to be forever looking down upon this goodly earth, as if in disdainful contempt of its manifold beauties. So, to-morrow, ladies and gentlemen," added he, rising, "we are to pay our respects to this 'Old Man.' I hear music below. You young people would like to join the merry groups, I suppose. I'm going down to the office to enjoy a cigar, and then retire, for my old bones are sadly racked with the jaunts of to-day. Good-night to you all." Thus saying, he walked away.

"Would you like to join the dancers, Ellen?" asked Florence, turning to the fair girl who sat in a rocking-chair by the window, gazing out on the moon-lit earth.

"I don't care to join the dance," she returned; "but I would like to go and listen to the music a while."

"Then let us go," said her brother; "that is, if agreeable to Miss Florence and Mr. Lindenwood."

"I shall be happy to accompany you, Miss Howard," said he, offering Florence his arm, which she accepted, and the party descended to the parlors. They were well-lighted, and filled with guests. Edward and Ellen soon became exhilarated by the music, and joined the cotillons. Edgar looked in vain for a vacant sofa, and at length asked Florence if she would not like to walk on the piazzas. She assented, and they went forth. The evening was cool and delightful. A sweet young moon shed her pale light o'er the scene, veiling the roughness of the surrounding country, and heightening its romantic effect.

"I think you are growing less cheerful every day," said he, gazing tenderly on her downcast features.

"Can you not divine the cause of my depression?" she asked, raising her dark eyes to his face.

"No," said he, smiling on her. "Won't you tell me?"

"Father says we must return home soon," answered she, turning her face away.

"Is that an unpleasant prospect to you?" asked he, seeking to obtain a glance at her averted face.

"Yes," returned she; and he thought a shudder for a moment convulsed the slender form at his side.

They were both silent several moments, and then he remarked, "I intend to visit Wimbledon in a few months; may I not hope to see you should I do so?"

"I presume my father will be happy to receive a visit from you," answered she, in a formal tone.

"But his daughter would rather be excused from my company, I am to understand," said he.

"O, no! not that," returned Florence quickly, turning her face suddenly toward him, when he saw it was bathed in tears and marked with painful emotion.

"What distresses you, Florence?" asked he; gently taking her hand in his. "Will you not tell me?"

"I dare not, Edgar!" answered she, with fast-falling tears. "I have wronged you, and you will not forgive me."

"Then you do not love me!" said he, looking sadly on her countenance.

"O, yes! I love you," she returned, in a tone of pathetic tenderness, "Heaven knows, too wildly well! If that could atone for my fault, I should not fear to give it expression."

"It can!" said he, pressing her hand closely to his heart. "Believe me, Florence, it can atone for everything."

Encouraged by his tone and manner she spoke. "I am engaged"--he dropped the hand and started back--"to Rufus Malcome," she concluded, and then darting quickly into the hall, flew up stairs and locked herself into her own apartment. She paced the floor hurriedly several minutes, and then seized her journal,--always her confidant in moments of affliction.

"I knew it would come to this at last," she wrote. "I have acknowledged my error, and told him of my engagement with Rufus Malcome. It cost me a struggle, but I knew he must learn it from some source e'er long, and better from my lips than those of strangers. He will visit Wimbledon, and then, O horrible thought! I shall be the bride of another; for father tells me Col. Malcome is desirous the marriage should be consummated the approaching winter. I got a long, foolish letter from Rufus yesterday. O dear, how sick and sorry it made me! It is strange mother never writes. Col. Malcome says she is not as well as when we left, and this intelligence disposes father to hasten home. O, my poor bleeding heart! How soon this little day of happiness has past." She closed the book, and threw herself on the bed. After a while she fell asleep, and was roused by Ellen, knocking for admittance.

In the morning she met Edgar in the parlor with her father and young Williams, the three in earnest conversation about their proposed excursion to the Profile Mountain. He made her a distant bow. She returned to her room, and not the most urgent entreaties of her father could induce her to join the party. She pleaded a violent headache, and Ellen announced her resolve to remain with her. She cared nothing about the 'Old Man;' she would stay at home and nurse Florence. So the three gentlemen departed together, and in a few days the Howards had left the mountain region and set out for Wimbledon.