But Frances
answered not.
From the window where she stood, the pass that they had traveled through
the Highlands was easily to be seen; and the mountain which held on its
summit the mysterious hut was directly before her. Its side was rugged
and barren; huge and apparently impassable barriers of rocks presenting
themselves through the stunted oaks, which, stripped of their foliage,
were scattered over its surface. The base of the hill was not half a
mile from the house, and the object which attracted the notice of
Frances was the figure of a man emerging from behind a rock of
remarkable formation, and as suddenly disappearing. The maneuver was
several times repeated, as if it were the intention of the fugitive (for
such by his air he seemed to be) to reconnoiter the proceedings of the
soldiery, and assure himself of the position of things on the plain.
Notwithstanding the distance, Frances instantly imbibed the opinion that
it was Birch. Perhaps this impression was partly owing to the air and
figure of the man, but in a great measure to the idea that presented
itself on formerly beholding the object at the summit of the mountain.
That they were the same figure she was confident, although this wanted
the appearance which, in the other, she had taken for the pack of the
peddler.
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