"A good bit, I believe; it's a long way, you see. I can give you a lift as far as Grange if you like; the pony trap will be there to meet me."
"It's very kind of you; I shall be most grateful. How far is Grange from Rosthwaite?"
"Oh, a very little way, a short two miles, right through Borrowdale, you know."
When they arrived at Keswick station, the Captain's new friend led the way to the road outside, where they found a pony carriage and a smart-looking groom waiting, and they were soon driving quickly through the streets of the pretty little town.
Then the lake came in sight, beautiful even on that wintry afternoon. A fringe of snow covered the top of Cat Bells and the higher hills on the opposite side of the water, and Derwentwater was lighted up by the rays of the red sun, which had not yet dipped behind their white summits.
Captain Fortescue thought he had never beheld a lovelier scene. The wooded islands with which the lake is studded, the dark fir trees on Friar's Crag, the rocks and trees on the margin of the lake reflected in the still water, the high mountains of Borrowdale shutting out the view before him, and Skiddaw standing in solitary grandeur behind him; all these combined to form a glorious panorama of beauty, on which he gazed with great admiration as he drove along.
His companion talked the whole way, pointing out the different mountain peaks; stopping the carriage that he might hear the roar of Lodore, as its waters, swollen by winter snows, dashed a hundred feet over the precipice; and then, when the lake was left behind, showing him in the distance the beautiful double bridge which crosses the rushing river as it runs towards the lake.
"Do you see those houses," he said, "just in front of us? We are coming to Grange now."
"That is where you live?"
"Yes; in that house on the other side of the river. You can just see the chimneys amongst the trees."