“If pure and mild air, a sunny sky, and ravishing scenery, be what they seek who cross the Alps, my father,” said Adelheid, after they had stood a moment, gazing at the magnificent panorama, “why should the Swiss quit his native land?  Is there in Italy aught more soft, more winning or more healthful, than this?”

“This spot has often been called the Italy of our mountains.  The fig ripens near yonder village of Montreux, and, open to the morning sun while it is sheltered by the precipices above, the whole of that shore well deserves its happy reputation.  Still they whose spirits require diversion, and whose constitutions need support, generally prefer to go into countries where the mind has more occupation, and where a greater variety of employments help the climate and nature to complete the cure.”

“But thou forgettest, father, it is agreed between us that I am now to become strong, and active, and laughing, as we used to be at Willading, when I first grew into womanhood.”

“If I could but see those days again, darling, my own closing hours would be calm as those of a saint—­though Heaven knows I have little pretension to that blessed character in any other particular.”

“Dost thou not count a quiet conscience and a sure hope as something, father?”

“Have it as thou wilt, girl.  Make a saint of me, or a bishop, or a hermit, if thou wilt; the only reward I ask is, to see thee smiling and happy, as thou never failedst to be during the first eighteen years of thy life.  Had I foreseen that thou wert to return from my good sister so little like thyself, I would have forbidden the visit, much as I love her, and all that are her’s.  But the wisest of us are helpless mortals, and scarce know our own wants from hour to hour.  Thou saidst, I think, that this brave Sigismund honestly declared his belief that my consent could never be given to one who had so little to boast of, in the way of birth and fortune?  There was, at least, good sense, and modesty, and right feeling, in the doubt, but he should have thought better of my heart.”

“He said this;” returned Adelheid, in a timid and slightly trembling voice, though it was quite apparent by the confiding expression of her eye, that she had no longer any secret from her parent.  “He had too much honor to wish to win the daughter of a noble without the knowledge and approbation of her friends.”

“That the boy should love thee, Adelheid, is natural; it is an additional proof of his own merit—­but that he should distrust my affection and justice is an offence that I can scarce forgive.  What are ancestry and wealth to thy happiness?”

“Thou forget’st, dear sir, he is yet to learn that my happiness, in any measure, depends on his.”

Adelheid spoke quickly and with warmth.

“He knew I was a father and that thou art an only child; one of his good sense and right way of thinking should have better understood the feelings of a man in my situation, than to doubt his natural affection.”