fixed on this morning to commence their journey; and her regret at their departure was augmented by believing that their presence would have been a comfort and relief to the Countess.
Full of the idea that they had already begun to ascend those stupendous precipices, which together they had so often viewed with mingled awe and veneration; she gazed upon them with a melancholy kind of pleasure, as if by doing so she could once more have beheld the travellers.
She remained thus engaged, till Agatha called to her from a window, and informed her the Countess was up. She directly returned to the house, and, going up to the Countess's dressing-room, met her just as she was entering it.
With the most anxious solicitude she enquired how she found herself. "Somewhat better," (the Countess replied). But whether
