Chapter 9

"Tell me, where is fancy bred--
Or in the heart, or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?"

SONG IN SHAKSPEARE.

The travellers were several hours ascending into the mountains, by a
country road that could scarcely be surpassed by a French wheel-track
of the same sort, for Mademoiselle Viefville protested, twenty times
in the course of the morning, that it was a thousand pities Mr.
Effingham had not the privilege of the _corvée_, that he might cause
the approach to his _terres_ to be kept in better condition. At
length they reached the summit, a point where the waters began to
flow south, when the road became tolerably level. From this time
their progress became more rapid, and they continued to advance two
or three hours longer at a steady pace.

Aristabulus now informed his companions that, in obedience to
instructions from John Effingham, he had ordered the coachmen to take
a road that led a little from the direct line of their journey, and
that they had now been travelling for some time on the more ancient
route to Templeton.

"I was aware of this," said Mr. Effingham, "though ignorant of the
reason. We are on the great western turnpike."

"Certainly, sir, and all according to Mr. John's request. There would
have been a great saving in distance, and agreeably to my notion, in
horse-flesh, had we quietly gone down the banks of the lake."

"Jack will explain his own meaning," returned Mr. Effingham, "and he
has stopped the other carriage, and alighted with Sir George,--a
hint, I fancy, that we are to follow their example."

Sure enough, the second carriage was now stopped, and Sir George
hastened to open its door.

"Mr. John Effingham, who acts as cicerone," cried the baronet,
"insists that every one shall put _pied á terre_ at this precise
spot, keeping the important reason still a secret, in the recesses of
his own bosom."

The ladies complied, and the carriages were ordered to proceed with
the domestics, leaving the rest of the travellers by themselves,
apparently in the heart of a forest.

"It is to be hoped, Mademoiselle, there are no banditti in America,"
said Eve, as they looked around them at the novel situation in which
they were placed, apparently by a pure caprice of her cousin.

"_Ou des sauvages_," returned the governess, who, in spite of her
ordinary intelligence and great good sense, had several times that
day cast uneasy and stolen glances into the bits of dark wood they
had occasionally passed.

"I will ensure your purses and your scalps, _mesdames_," cried John
Effingham gaily, "on condition