"Did you wish you were down here in the valley, when the awful storm overtook you?"
"No, indeed," answered Florence; "my courage rose above all difficulties. O, Ellen! you know not what you lost, when, chilled by the blasts that swept Mount Franklin, you grew discouraged and turned back."
"So Ned tells me," said Ellen; "but I saw sublimity enough from Mount Willard to fill my little soul with rapture, though I had no artist-companion at my side to point out the grandest views to my untaught vision."
Here she fixed an arch glance on Florence, who blushed slightly as she said:
"I do not understand your quizzical looks."
"Probably not," returned Ellen, in a pleasant, bantering tone; "and if I should tell you Mr. Lindenwood, the young artist of whom I spoke to you at Niagara, had made his appearance in these regions, no doubt you would express appropriate surprise at the information. However, your father has been impressed with his appearance, and sought an introduction. I saw them in the parlor but a moment since, engaged in conversation."
"Is it possible?" said Florence, her eyes lighting with pleasure.
"Why, very possible," returned Ellen, "and they seemed mutually pleased with each other. Come, let us make ready and go down. I promised Ned to return in five minutes."
The young ladies descended to the parlor, where Florence beheld her father standing before a table, with Edgar at his side, examining a volume of engravings.
She approached softly, when Major Howard turned, and introduced his companion as "Mr. Lindenwood, a former acquaintance of hers, who was visiting the mountains for the purpose of sketching views, and obtaining geological specimens."