ked at his
watch--it wanted a quarter of four. The night was a wild and gusty one,
with occasional showers of thin sleet, and along the shore the sea beat
heavily, as though a storm was brewing at a distance off.

The message of the smuggler was his first thought on waking, but could
he venture sufficient trust in Terry's version to draw any inference
from it? Still, he resolved to ascend the mountain, little favourable
as the weather promised for such an undertaking. It was not without
reluctance that Herbert found himself called upon to accompany his
brother. The black and dreary night, the swooping wind, the wet spray,
drifting up to the very shealing, were but sorry inducements to stir
abroad; and he did his utmost to persuade him to defer the excursion to
a more favourable moment.

"We shall be wet through, and see nothing for our pains, Mark," said he,
half sulkily, as the other overruled each objection in turn.

"Wet we may possibly be," said Mark; "but with the wind, northing
by west, the mist will clear away, and by sunrise the coast will be
glorious; it is a spring-tide, too, and there will be a sea running
mountains high."

"I know well we shall find ourselves in a cloud on the top of the
mountain; it is but one day in a whole year any thing can be seen
favourably."

"And who is to say this is not that day? It is my birth-day, Herbert--a
most auspicious event, when we talk of fortunate occurrences."

The tone of sarcasm he spoke these words in, silenced Herbert's
scruples, and without further objection he prepared to follow Mark's
guidance.

The drifting rain, and the spongy heavy ground in which at each moment
the feet sank to the very instep, made the way toilsome and weary, and
the two brothers seldom spoke as they plodded along the steep ascent.

Mark's deep pre-occupation of mind took away all thought of the dreary
road; but Herbert followed with reluctant steps, half angry with himself
for compliance with what he regarded as an absurd caprice. The way was
not without its perils, and Mark halted from time to time to warn his
brother of the danger of some precipice, or the necessity to guard
against the slippery surface of the heather. Except at these times, he
rarely spoke, but strode on with firm step, lost in his own reflections.

"We are now twelve hundred feet above the lake, Herbert," said he, after
a long silence on both sides, "and the mountain at this side is like a
wall. This same isl