He had been five years in Spain, and was now four and twenty; but
few would have imagined him that age, so frank and free and full of
thoughtless mirth and hasty impulse was his character. These last
fifteen months, however, a shadow seemed to have fallen over him, not
deep enough to create remark, but _felt_ by himself. His feelings,
always ardent, had been all excited, and were all concentrated, on a
subject so wrapt in mystery, that the wish to solve it engrossed his
whole being. Except when engaged in the weary stratagem, the rapid
march, and actual conflict, necessary for Ferdinand's interest, but
one thought, composed of many, occupied his mind, and in solitude so
distractingly, that he could never rest; he would traverse the country
for miles, conscious indeed of what he _sought_, but perfectly
unconscious where he _went_.
It was in one of these moods he had entered the pass we have
described, rejoicing in its difficulties, but not thinking where it
led, or what place he sought, when a huge crag suddenly rising almost
perpendicularly before him, effectually roused him from his trance.
Outlet there was none. All around him towered mountains, reaching
to the skies. The path was so winding, that, as he looked round
bewildered, he could not even imagine how he came there.
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