by
the long fixed look from beneath the dark sweeping lashes of her eye, by
the faint sweet smile that gently curled her young, beautiful lip, and
by the sort of gasping sigh after she had gazed breathless for some
moments, she knew how intense was that gentle creature's delight in a
scene, which to many an eye would have offered no peculiar charm.

She would not suffer it to lose any of its first effect, and after a
brief pause ordered the carriage to drive on. Still Emily continued to
look onwards out of the carriage-window, and as the road turned in the
descent, the castle and the ancient trees grouped themselves differently
every minute. At length, as they came nearer, she said, turning to Mrs.
Hazleton, "There seems to be a man standing at the very highest point of
the old keep."

"He must be bold indeed," replied her companion, looking out also. "When
you come close to it, dear Emily, you will see that it requires the foot
of a goat and the heart of a lion to climb up there over the rough,
disjointed, tottering stones. Good Heaven, I hope he will not fall!"

Emily closed her eyes. "It is very foolish," she said.

"Oh, men have pleasure in such feats of daring," answered Mrs. Hazleton,
"which we women cannot understand. He is coming down again as steadily
as if he were treading a ball-room. I wish that tree were out of the
way."

In two or three minutes the carriage passed between two rows of old and
somewhat decayed oaks, and stopped between the fine gate of the castle,
covered with ivy, and rugged with the work of Time's too artistic hand,
and a building which, if it did not detract from the picturesque beauty
of the scene, certainly deprived it of all romance. There, just opposite
the entrance, stood a small house, built apparently of stones stolen
from the ruins, and bearing on a pole projecting from the front a large
blue sign-board, on which was rudely painted in yellow, the figure of
what we now call a French horn, while underneath appeared a long
inscription to the following effect:

"John Buttercross, at the sign of the Bugle Horn, sells wine and aqua
vitae, and good lodgings to man and horse. N.B. Donkeys to be found
within."

Emily laughed, and in an instant came down to common earth.

Mrs. Hazleton wished both John Buttercross and his sign in one fire or
another; though she could not help owning that such a house in so remote
a place might be a great convenience to visitors like herself. She t