CHAPTER VI.

SEPHORA had often listened with all the avidity of youth for the wonderful, to the history of this mysterious man, and this day, having from her mother's assistance, finished her work much sooner than usual, the fancy struck her of scrambling up to the den, and sometimes by catching hold of the tufts of heath or yellow broom, sometimes by setting her foot on the roots of the olives that had fantastically twisted themselves above the earth, she climbed up to it; but when she got there, found nothing in particular to reward her toil, but the pleasure of having overcome difficulties.

The cavern was much like a hundred others she had seen, and there was nothing to make it interesting but the recollection of the wretched being who had inhabited it. Two little panting kids, which seemed as if they had tired themselves with play, had now got

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possession of it, and were lying down in the extremity of its deep shade, but on Sephora's entering rose up, and half in frolick, half in fright, bounded past her, and perched themselves upon a jutting crag to watch her movements. She could not help contrasting this playful scene with the misery with which this rocky den must formerly have groaned, and each seemed heightened by being set in opposition to the other. She was soon ready to descend the hill again to her mother, but first stopped a few moments at the mouth of the cave to look at that extended prospect, which must have given the poor recluse such an ample view of the world he had quitted.

Towers and misty cities, woods and rivers, hill and dale, plains covered with browsing flocks, corn fields thick with sheaves, and echoing with the voice of labour, cloudcapped mountains, and the far extended distant main were spread before her; while the tranquil lake lay stretched beneath her feet, surrounded by its fringed and verdant ramparts. Such a scene might well induce

her to linger; she could have looked on it with delight for hours, but she thought that perhaps her mother would be impatient for her return, and would not indulge herself by remaining any longer.

She found yet more difficulty in descending the hill, than she had in climbing it, and wondered how the poor lunatic could so often have got up and down in safety. When she reached the bottom, the sun was declining, and tinging the western clouds. with gold and purple. It was time for them to be going home, she took up her fishing poles from the water, and with them many of the finny beauties of the lake, which, as they floundered on the ouzy bank, showed all the varying colours of that hand that dyed the peacock's plumes. Then fastening the covered baskets on the ass, she put in the olives, and spread grass over them, on which she laid the fish, and thus all things were quickly arranged for their return. She proposed to her mother to go back the way they came; but Pythonissa would not agree to it, and preferred the nearer path. Se

phora tried to dissuade her from it, but could not; so when they had gone about half a furlong through the valley, they turned short to the left through a gap in the rock called the pass of Hadessa, and ascended the wood by a gradual acclivity, till they came to their family burying ground. It was a clear space in the centre of the wood, bordered in part by low rocks which had been excavated for tombs, and in part by ancient trees that stretched their umbrageous branches over them, and looked as if they might have seen many successive generations deposited beneath their shades. Sephora scarcely knew that she breathed as she entered this spot. The fear of the effect it might have on her mother, added to what she always felt as she trod this sacred ground, quite harrowed up her mind with doleful thought. They walked quietly across the grassy court that scarcely heard their footfall. No sound was there," or none that hindered thought." The whisperings of the evening breeze that swept over the top of the trees, and the murmurings of the ringdoves that had built their

nests in the cypress that shaded her father's tomb, were all that was heard, and these sounded more like the hush than the voice of nature.

She looked towards the hallowed cave, and saw the ferns and briony had already sprung up and half concealed the stone that closed it. She well remembered her sensations when she saw that stone placed there, and the mournful procession turned again to seek their empty dwelling. She feared that her mother must feel these sad recollections even more than she herself did, and she did not dare to look towards her till they had again immerged into the wood; when she cast a look of apprehension on her, expecting to see her overcome with gloomy sadness; but it was no such thing, her countenance expressed nothing but its usual inanity, when not sunk in mournful thought or roused by peevishness and anger, for the soft and gentle passions seldom animated it.

Sephora, though relieved from her fears, felt half dissatisfied to see no sign of fond recollection, no token of departed happiness