crests, one above the other, to the
farthest any eye could reach. Towards the opposite side, the calm and
tranquil sea lay beneath me, bathed in the yellow gold of a rising sun; a
few ships were peaceably lying at anchor in the bay; and the only thing
in motion was a row-boat, the heavy monotonous stroke of whose oars rose
in the stillness of the morning air. Not a single habitation of man
could I descry, nor any vestige of a human being, except that mass of
something upon the rock far down beneath be one, and I think it is, for I
see the sheep-dog ever returning again and again to the same spot.

My bouquet was gathered; the gentian of the Alps, which is found here,
also contributing its evidence to show where I had been to seek it, and I
turned home.

The family were at breakfast as I entered; at least so the servants said,
for I only remembered then that the bishop was our guest, and that I
could not present myself without some slight attention to my dress. I
hastened to my room, and scarcely had I finished, when one of my cousins,
a little girl of eight years, came to the door and said,

"Harry, come down; Clara wants you."

I rushed down stairs, and as I entered the breakfast parlour, stood still
with surprise. The ladies were all dressed in white, and even my little
cousin wore a gala costume that amazed me.

"My bouquet, Harry; I hope you have not forgotten it," said Clara, as I
approached.

I presented it at once, when she gaily and coquettishly held out her hand
for me to kiss. This I did, my blood rushing to my face and temples the
while, and almost depriving me of consciousness.

"Well, Clara, I am surprised at you," said Mortimer. "How can you treat
the poor boy so?"

I grew deadly pale at these words, and, turning round, looked at the
speaker full in the face. Poor fellow, thought I, he is jealous, and I
am really grieved for him; and turned again to Clara.

"Here it is--oh! how handsome, papa," said one of the younger children,
running eagerly to the window, as a very pretty open carriage with four
horses drew up before the house.

"The bishop has taste," I murmured to myself, scarcely deigning to give a
second look at the equipage.

Clara now left the room, but speedily returned--her dress changed, and
shawled as if for a walk. What could all this mean?--and the whispering,
too, what is all that?--and why are they all so sad?--Clara has been
weeping.

"God bless you, my child--good