our. Rhoda said very little; her
remarks were generally a purposed interruption of Everard's theme. When
the cigar was smoked Out they rose and set forward again. This latter
half of their walk proved the most interesting, for they were expectant
of the view down upon Wastdale. A bold summit came in sight, dark,
desolate, which they judged to be Great Gabel; and when they had
pressed on eagerly for another mile, the valley opened beneath them
with such striking suddenness that they stopped on the instant and
glanced at each other in silence. From a noble height they looked down
upon Wastwater, sternest and blackest of the lakes, on the fields and
copses of the valley head with its winding stream, and the rugged
gorges which lie beyond in mountain shadow.

The descent was by a path which in winter becomes the bed of a torrent,
steep and stony, zigzagging through a thick wood. Here, and when they
had reached the level road leading into the village, their talk was in
the same natural, light-hearted strain as before they rested. So at the
inn where they dined, and during their drive homewards--by the dark
lake with its woods and precipices, out into the country of green
hills, and thence through Gosforth on the long road descending seaward.
Since their early departure scarcely a cloud had passed over the sun--a
perfect day.

They alighted before reaching Seascale. Barfoot discharged his debt to
the driver--who went on to bait at the hotel--and walked with Rhoda for
the last quarter of a mile. This was his own idea; Rhoda made no
remark, but approved his discretion.

'It is six o'clock,' said Everard, after a short silence. 'You remember
your arrangement. At eight, down on the shore.'

'I should be much more comfortable in the armchair with a book.'

'Oh, you have had enough of books. It's time to live.'

'It's time to rest.'

'Are you so very tired? Poor girl! The day has been rather too much for
you.'

Rhoda laughed.

'I could walk back again to Wastwater if it were necessary.'

'Of course; I knew that. You are magnificent. At eight o'clock then--'

Nothing more was said on the subject. When in sight of Rhoda's lodgings
they parted without hand-shaking.

Before eight Everard was straying about the beach, watching the sun go
down in splendour. He smiled to himself frequently. The hour had come
for his last trial of Rhoda, and he felt some confidence as to the
result. If her mettle endured his test, if she dec