On they went up the mountain, conversing now upon one topic, now upon another, yet both conscious of but one prominent fact—­that they were together, and supremely happy in each other’s society.

At last, however, their climb was over, and following a rough path that led along the side of the mountain for some distance, they at length came out upon a broad ledge or table rock, which was indeed barren to desolation.

But the vista that opened out before them was beautiful beyond description.

Mountains everywhere—­above, below, and on either hand; but between them were fertile little valleys, with here and there glittering lakes with tiny streamlets trickling into them, that seemed like silver brooches and chains garnishing nature’s emerald vestments.

The youthful couple stood wrapt in silence for several minutes, viewing the varied landscape.  To Virgie the scene was familiar as an oft-repeated tale, and yet she was never weary of it.  To her companion it was one of the loveliest views that he had ever gazed upon, even though he had visited many lands and climbed many a mountain.

“It is grand!” said Mr. Heath, at last.

“It is grand!” echoed Virgie, drawing in a deep breath of pure air, and sweeping a delighted glance over all the fair scene.

“I thank you very much for bringing me here,” her companion continued.  “I would hardly have believed there could be such an exquisite view in this region; my disagreeable ride, when I came here before, rather prejudiced me against the locality.  Do you come here often?”

“I used to, before papa’s health failed him,” Virgie answered, with a regretful sigh, as she remembered how little her father had been able to go about of late.  “We used to come here almost every Sabbath in fine weather, with our books and papers, and spend half the day—­it is all the church we have had—­and I shall always love the spot.”

“No doubt you do, and yet——­”

Virgie looked up inquiringly as he paused abruptly.

“I was thinking,” he continued, in reply to her glance, “that this mountain must be a wild and lonely place for one like you to spend your life in.”

“Yes, it is lonely,” the young girl responded, with a wistful gleam in her violent eyes.

“Have you lived here long, Miss Abbot?”

“Five years—­a little more.”

“So long?  Surely you cannot have had much congenial society,” Mr. Heath remarked, as he contemplated with no favoring eye the rude hamlet far below them on their right.

“None, save my father.”

“And have you never been lonely, and yearned for youthful companionship?”

“Oh, yes, often,” and the bright tears sprang quickly into Virgie’s blue eyes, as she thought of the nights she had wept herself to sleep from sheer homesickness and a feeling of utter desolation.  “But,” she continued more brightly, and winking rapidly to keep the tell-tale drops from falling.  “I can bear loneliness, or almost anything else, for my father’s sake.”