Byron.
From this point, however, they had left the lovely landscape of the valley and entered as by a natural gate into the wild mountain scenery, that, as they went on, grew wilder, more dreary and desolate.
They were two more days and nights on the road, stopping at irregular intervals to change horses at wayside post-houses, located just where it was possible to put them, or to breakfast, dine and sup at roadside taverns or little village hotels, until at the close of the fifth day from starting on their wearisome journey, they reached a ferry on the banks of a narrow, deep and rapid river, on the opposite side of which arose a lofty range of dark, cedar-covered mountains.
Here their stage journey ended.
They left the coach, had their baggage taken, and entered the ferry-house.
The coach, after changing horses, went on its way.
Gloria and David Lindsay found themselves in a homely parlor, with bare walls and bare floor, a few flag-bottomed chairs and a pine table. The only ornaments were a defaced looking-glass between the windows and a framed picture of old-fashioned sampler-work representing a willow-tree over a tombstone, hung over the mantelpiece.
It was, however, heated by a roaring fire of great cedar logs, for cedar was the most plentiful wood in that mountain region, and it was lighted by two tall tallow-dips in iron candlesticks.
David Lindsay drew forward a chair and placed it before the fire for his weary companion, and then went out to find the landlord, ferryman, or some other responsible party.
After an absence of a few moments he came back, and said: