The view from the heights was glorious: below them stretched the gray-green of the olive groves, broken here and there by the bright pink blossoms of a peach tree; the white houses of Fossato gleamed among the dark glossy foliage of its orange orchards, and beyond stretched the beautiful bay of Naples, with its sea a blaze of blue, and old Vesuvius smoking in the distance like a warning of trouble to come.
It was at this point of the walk that Irene, foolish, luckless Irene, made a fatal mistake, and, as Miss Bickford afterwards told her, "wrecked the whole excursion and spoiled everybody's pleasure." She beckoned Lorna and ran up a hill to obtain a higher vantage ground, then, instead of descending by the route she had come, she insisted upon taking a short cut to rejoin the path and catch up with the rest of the party.

Now neither Lorna nor Irene was aware that the mountain was a network of many paths leading to little vineyards and gardens, and that when they ran down the opposite side of the slope they were striking a fresh alley, altogether different from the one along which Miss Bickford was leading her flock.

For quite a long way the two girls walked on, thinking they were in advance of the others and had stolen a march upon them.

Then they sat down and waited, but nobody came.

It was a considerable time before it dawned upon them that they were separated from the rest of the party.
"We've come wrong somehow," said Lorna, in much consternation.
"What had we better do ?" "I don't know." "Perhaps they're not far off.