“Ten thousand pardons! A Clifton of Clifton never laughs. But tell me, Captain, whereabouts in the world—I mean in the clouds, are we? And when shall we see this pure pearl of beauty and the rich casket that enshrines her, this stately lily of the mountains and the parterre where she blooms;—when shall we behold Paradise and the Peri—Clifton and Lady Carolyn?”
Without replying to this mock-poetic strain, Captain Clifton remained with his eyes still wandering from East to West, and back again over the rolling vapor. And Fairfax continued—
“I suspect now, by your abstracted air and wandering eye, that you have lost your way in the clouds—not the first time such a thing has happened to a lover, nor would it be strange in a place like this, where the only land-marks are mountain tops sticking out of the fog with a day’s journey between each!”
At this instant a distant group of peaks broke suddenly through the mist like new isles thrown up by the sea, and glittered whitely in the sunlight against the deep blue horizon.
“See!” exclaimed Clifton, roused from his apathy by the sudden apparition. “Look, Fairfax! I will show you White Cliffs! Look straight before you to the Western horizon—a little North of West. You see a crescent of seven peaks rising through the mist against the sky. That is White Cliffs.”
“Looking white enough at this distance—quite like snow-capped mountains, in fact.”
“Yes. They are of white quartz, and their peaks rising from the girdle of dark evergreens around their base and sides, have quite a cooling effect in hot weather.”
“Ah! just so. Now how far off are those same blessed refrigerators?”
“About twenty-five miles in a bee-line. But the mountain road is very circuitous, and makes the distance nearly forty. However, if we ride well, we shall be able to reach Clifton in time to surprise Mrs. Clifton at tea.”
“Heaven be praised for that possibility!” ejaculated Fairfax, as they prepared to descend the mountain side.