was no longer alone; and of late the solitude of her life, the ever-present consciousness that nobody shared her pleasures or sympathised with her upon any point, had weighed upon her like an actual burden.  Now she had Maulevrier, who was always kind, who understood and shared almost all her tastes, and Maulevrier’s friend, who, although not given to saying smooth things, seemed warmly interested in her pursuits and opinions.  He encouraged her to talk, although he generally took the opposite side in every argument; and she no longer felt oppressed or irritated by the idea that he despised her.

Indeed, although he never flattered or even praised her, Mr. Hammond let her see that he liked her society.  She had gone out of her way to avoid him, very fearful lest he should think her bold or masculine; but he had taken pains to frustrate all her efforts in that direction; he had refused to go upon excursions which she could not share.  ’Lady Mary must come with us,’ he said, when they were planning a morning’s ramble.  Thus it happened that Mary was his guide and companion in all his walks, and roamed with him bamboo in hand, over every one of those mountainous paths she knew and loved so well.  Distance was as nothing to them—­sometimes a boat helped them, and they went over wintry Windermere to climb the picturesque heights above Bowness.  Sometimes they took ponies, and a groom, and left their steeds to perform the wilder part of the way on foot.  In this wise John Hammond saw all that was to be seen within a day’s journey of Grasmere, except the top of Helvellyn.  Maulevrier had shirked the expedition, had always put off Mary and Mr. Hammond when they proposed it.  The season was not advanced enough—­the rugged pathway by the Tongue Ghyll would be as slippery as glass—­no pony could get up there in such weather.

‘We have not had any frost to speak of for the last fortnight,’ pleaded Mary, who was particularly anxious to do the honours of Helvellyn, as the real lion of the neighbourhood.

‘What a simpleton you are, Molly!’ cried Maulevrier.  ’Do you suppose because there is no frost in your grandmother’s garden—­and if you were to ask Staples about his peaches he would tell you a very different story—­that there’s a tropical atmosphere on Dolly Waggon Pike?  Why, I’d wager the ice on Grisdale Tarn is thick enough for skating.  Helvellyn won’t run away, child.  You and Hammond can dance the Highland Schottische on Striding Edge in June, if you like.’

‘Mr. Hammond won’t be here in June,’ said Mary.

’Who knows?—­the train service is pretty fair between London and Windermere.  Hammond and I would think nothing of putting ourselves in the mail on a Friday night, and coming down to spend Saturday and Sunday with you—­if you are good.’

There came a sunny morning soon after Easter which seemed mild enough for June; and when Hammond suggested that this was the very day for Helvellyn, Maulevrier had not a word to say against the truth of that proposition.  The weather had been exceptionally warm for the last week, and they had played tennis and sat in the garden just as if it had been actually summer.  Patches of snow might still linger on the crests of the hills—­but the approach to those bleak heights could hardly be glacial.