go.  All others were to him as if they were not there.  He saw their forms, but saw them as the forms of inanimate things.  At length her mother came; and Flemming beheld in her but another Mary Ashburton, with beauty more mature;—­the same forehead and eyes, the same majestic figure; and, as yet, no trace of age.  He gazed upon her with a feeling of delight, not unmingled with holy awe.  She was to him the rich and glowing Evening, from whose bosom the tremulous star was born.

Berkley took no active part in the conversation, but did what was much more to the purpose, that it is to say, arranged a drive for the next day with the Ashburtons, and of course invited Flemming, who went home that night with a halo round hishead; and wondering much at a dandy, who stood at the door of the hotel, and said to his companion, as Flemming passed;

“What do you call this place?  I have been here two hours already, and find it devilish dull!”

CHAPTER V. A RAINY DAY.

When Flemming awoke the next morning he saw the sky dark and lowering.  From the mountain tops hung a curtain of mist, whose heavy folds waved to and fro in the valley below.  Over all the landscape, the soft, summer rain was falling.  No admiring eyes would look up that day at the Staubbach.

A rainy day in Switzerland puts a sudden stop to many diversions.  The coachman may drive to the tavern and then back to the stable; but no farther.  The sunburnt guide may sit at the ale-house door, and welcome; and the boatman whistle and curse the clouds, at his own sweet will; but no foot stirs abroad for all that; no traveller moves, if he has time to stay.  The rainy daygives him time for reflection.  He has leisure now to take cognizance of his impressions, and make up his account with the mountains.  He remembers, too, that he has friends at home; and writes up the Journal, neglected for a week or more; and letters neglected longer; or finishes the rough pencil-sketch, begun yesterday in the open air.  On the whole he is not sorry it rains; though disappointed.

Flemming was both sorry and disappointed; but he did not on that account fail to go over to the Ashburtons at the appointed hour.  He found them sitting in the parlour.  The mother was reading, and the daughter retouching a sketch of the Lake of Thun.  After the usual salutations, Flemming seated himself near the daughter, and said;

“We shall have no Staubbach to-day, I presume; only this Giessbach from the clouds.”

“Nothing more, I suppose.  So we must be content to stay in-doors; and listen to the soundof the eves-dropping rain.  It gives me time to finish some of these rough sketches.”

“It is a pleasant pastime,” said Flemming; “and I perceive you are very skilful.  I am delighted to see, that you can draw a straight line.  I never before saw a lady’s sketch-book, in which all the towers did not resemble the leaning Tower of Pisa.  I always tremble for the little men under them.”