ve gone
all through the valley, and explored it in every direction, without
meeting with a single shrub of the daphne. I am almost certain there
are none."

This conversation between the brothers had occurred, long before the
losing of the kite. When that event came to pass, it was not necessary
for them to repeat it; and, both being thus acquainted with the fact
that it was impossible for them to construct another, they felt that
they had sustained an irreparable loss.

In what direction had the kite been carried off? Might it not be blown
along the line of cliffs, and tossed back again into the valley?

As there appeared some probability that such a chance might arise, all
three ran outward from the rocks--in order to command a better view of
the precipice, on each side.

For a long time they stood watching--in hopes that they might see the
great paper-bird returning to the scene of its nativity. But it never
came back; and they became at length convinced, that it never would.
Indeed, the direction of the wind--when they paused to consider it--
rendered the thing not only improbable, but impossible. It was blowing
_from_ the cliffs, and _towards_ the snowy ridge. No doubt the kite had
been carried up the sloping acclivity; and had either passed clear over
the mountains, or become lodged in some deep defile, where the wind
could no longer reach it. At all events, it was certain, that both kite
and cord were lost to them for ever.

"Ach! how very unfortunate!" exclaimed Caspar, in a vexed tone, when
they had finally arrived at this conviction. "What ill-starred luck we
have, to be sure!"

"Nay! brother," remarked Karl, in a tone of reproval; "do not chide
Fortune for what has happened just now. I acknowledge it is a great
misfortune; but it is one for which we may justly blame ourselves, and
only ourselves. By sheer negligence we have lost the kite, and along
with it, perhaps, the last chance of regaining our liberty."

"Yes, you speak truly," rejoined Caspar, in a tone of mingled regret and
resignation. "It _was_ our fault, and we must suffer for it."

"But are you quite sure, brother Karl," resumed he, after a pause, and
referring to the conversation that had already passed between them--"are
you quite sure there are no more of these paper-bearing trees?"

"Of course," replied the plant-hunter, "I am not positive--though I fear
it is as I have said--that there are no more. It will be easy for us