dreary to be all alone, for the guide did not count, on this dreary pasture. The sun had gone in, too; clouds hid the valley below and gusts of strong wind made her sway in her saddle. But soon, after carefully skirting an emerald bog beyond the last knot of herdsmen's huts, the girl could distinguish a group of small dark figures slowly climbing a distant ridge. Her guide gave a peculiar ringing shout, whereupon the distant procession stopped, and hats and handkerchiefs waved a response.

"They are terribly far off," cried Violet with sudden impatience, they will go up the peak without me; can't we get on a little quicker?"

"Les

"And

But the guide smilingly reassured her on that point. messieurs" were to breakfast at the châlet up there by the snow, and in any case would certainly wait for the rest of the party. look, mademoiselle," he continued, pointing to the distant group, "one of the gentlemen is coming back to meet you. Sapristi, he has mountaineer's legs, that one. What a pace. Can mademoiselle distinguish him yet?"

Mademoiselle made no reply, but she smiled and urged her mule onwards, and the wind had tinted her cheeks with bright rose colour. The flying figure came nearer and nearer, and soon the Venetian stood flushed and panting by Violet's side.

"Mr. Bradford was growing quite anxious about you, Signorina," he gasped, struggling to regain his breath, "and when he saw that you were alone, he wanted to turn back, but I begged hard to be allowed to come and take care of you. Will you let me?" he added with an entreating smile, and resting his hand on the mule's neck not far from the fingers holding the reins.

"Certainly I will!" she answered with frank gladness, and then those strange eyes of his fixed hers so intently that the glow on her cheeks deepened and she began to descant on the beauty of the scene, the delicious mountain air, and so on, talking very fast and almost at random. It was very odd, she thought, that she could so seldom feel at ease with this friend she liked so well. And as he made no reply to her remarks, his silence soon compelled hers. She began to experience the same humiliating sense of talking nonsense that comes to most of us when trying to converse with a deaf person. Yet she was well content to have him walking beside her, well content to let her animal pick his way as slowly as he liked.

Suddenly Mario broke silence-the guide was on in front just then-" You were very unkind to me last night, Signorina!" he said.

"Unkind! How! I -."

66 More, you were cruel. Did you not know my music was all for you? Did you think I sought out that guitar, sang those songs, for those stupid people!" he said vehemently, indicating by a swift gesture the cavalcade emerging from the forest far down below. "i foolishly hoped that my little songs would please you, and so I sang them in the salon and you came not, then I sang them again beneath your window and you made no sign. Ah! you Englishwomen are enigmas! You have the courage to wander over mountains alone, but you are not brave enough to throw a glance to reward a poor singer! Do you know what a Venetian girl would have done?" he whispered, again resting his hands on the reins, this time closer still to Violet's fingers. "A Venetian girl would have understood; she would have opened her window just a little, would have waved her hand, perhaps shown her face for one moment, and the poor singer would have gone away a proud and happy man. But you, you did not listen to me."

Violet's breath went and came quickly; tears welled up in her eyes, a tumult of remorseful feeling filled her soul. Very tender-hearted, very simple and accustomed to simple directness of speech, how could she remain unmoved when this charge of cruelty was preferred against her in gently remorseful accents? Mario looked miserable, and she was the cause of his misery.

"Oh ! but I did listen! Indeed I did," she said eagerly. "The songs were beautiful, but I did not know-how could I know that you were singing them for me? and then you see I am English, Signor Corradini."

These last words were uttered quite humbly; for a moment her fingers touched Mario's as she jerked the reins in her agitation.

"Well! here you are at last, my dear! make haste! we are dying of hunger," shouted a cheery voice, for that instant they had breasted a ridge and were in sight of a rough shanty, and of Mr. Bradford standing at its door without his coat and making signals of impatient welcome to his daughter. "We won't wait for the rest of the party, Corradini," he continued; "ten to one they will have had enough of the mountain by this time, and will not ascend the peak. Violet, my child, what a colour you have, pity I can't always get you out of bed at five in the morning!" Violet leaped from her saddle gaily enough, and slipping quickly into the little room that was to be their banqueting hall, was presently occupied in adding the contents of the luncheon-basket to the scanty fare set out on the table.

Mario lingered outside among the pigs; he was fiercely twisting

his moustache and regretting the interruption of a love scene so ably conducted, when Violet's guide came towards him holding a scrap of paper in his hand-"Pardon, monsieur, I did not know that your name was Corradini; mademoiselle did not tell me, or I should have given you this sooner."

Mario took the note, hurriedly read it and his face grew cloudier than before. He crumpled it in his hand with an exclamation of anger, thrust it into his pocket and striding away among the rocks, threw himself on the ground with his hands pressed to his eyes.

"Dio buono! What have I done to deserve such ill luck! Her illness matters little, she is always ailing now. But she should have taken better care of poor little Dino! a strong, hearty boy like that! Why should he be ill too? And what good will it do if I rush back to Venice, as my good brother commands? It is all very well for him; he has nothing at stake, but for me to go at this crisis ! Is all the golden future to be given up for the sake of that foolish woman whom I have borne with too long?-Dio! Dio! very likely it is a trick of Beppe's to get me away. What am I to do?"

And tears of rage and self-pity burst from the Venetian's eyes. He plucked savagely at the short herbage under his hands, gazing straight before him at the clouds drifting over the mighty summits across the valley. All beauty and gentleness had vanished from his face. He looked spiteful and scowling, and there was a steely glitter in his usually dreamy eyes.

"Corradini, Corradini!" Shouted Mr. Bradford's voice from the châlet window; "please don't waste your time in artistic raptures over the scenery. Come and eat a mouthful before we attack the peak!"

The artist made a gesture of impatience at the summons, but he rose nevertheless and obeyed it.

He was smiling pleasantly enough when he joined the others at table, but he was pale, spoke little, and ate hardly anything. More than once Violet's eyes rested pityingly upon him, for his were never raised. They were not a very lively party, for though the old French gentleman talked a great deal and was as courtly and amiable as he always was when the prospects of the Legitimists could be kept out of the conversation, the Englishmen were all too hungry to second his efforts, and Violet did not say much.

Just as the frugal repast was at an end the American contingent came clattering up to the door. These young ladies were disgusted with the mountain, with the mules, and even with the view. Chamonix was their standard of scenery; this was different, therefore

inferior, and, as one of them remarked, was "a slim thing" after the Montanvert. As for the peak, she "concluded it wasn't worth while to climb that 'rickle of stones,'" so they all remained behind; and, seeing Violet's weary looks, her father wished her to stay with them, but she would not hear of it, and began to dance upwards among the rocks, crying out for joy at the sight of the wonderful gentians and forget-me-nots that grew so plentifully on all sides. As for Mr. Bradford, he was in the highest spirits. He declared he felt twenty years younger, notwithstanding his long tramp. What mattered a little shortness of breath? that would soon vanish with a little training. And he scanned the glittering snow-fields of the Mont Blanc ranges with the air of one well able to reach their fastnesses. It was an odd fact that whenever Mrs. Bradford was absent, her husband wore an air of jovial self-assertion never visible in her presence. Then Mr. Bradford the individual was merged in Mr. Bradford the husband; for, though not in the least henpecked, he certainly bowed to his lady's stronger will. And perhaps it was because she was his senior by a year or two that he never, when with her, boasted of any remains of youthful agility. The wiry Frenchman, to whom mountain wanderings were a matter of course, was highly amused at the exuberant self-satisfaction suddenly developed in the generally reserved Briton.

"We elder men have the best of it to-day, Monsieur," said the latter presently, when, having surmounted a grassy mamelon at the foot of the horn-like summit, they all paused to take breath. "This seems stiff work for our Italian friend."

"Ah!" replied the Frenchman, "but he is marvellous for a Venetian! Why, I remember when I was at Venice with his Majesty Henry V.-le Comte de Chambord, as you others call him-" and then came a long story illustrative of Venetian inactivity.

Certainly, Mario was behaving very strangely, unless indeed he was as exhausted as Mr. Bradford supposed. He had come slowly up, some distance behind all the others, and now, having in his turn reached the ridge, had thrown himself prostrate on the turf near its edge, with his hat jammed down over his eyes.

How grandly beautiful it was up on this lofty resting-place! Now curling white mists seethed slowly up from the wooded valley beneath, then swept onwards, borne on the swift wind, and rushed whistling over the turf, wrapping our climbers in a dense white shroud. Violet would willingly have lingered longer, but the guides, who were watching the clouds with anxious faces, bade them hurry forward if they hoped to reach the top of the peak. These swirling

mists were of bad omen, they said, and the storm gathering in the distance over the Annecy mountains, might very likely be driven in this direction. So, picking their way over a knife-like ridge, they breasted the stony peak, and after a short but strenuous climb attained the glory of the summit. Here they were soon joined by Mario, now apparently in the brightest of humours, and Violet's enjoyment was suddenly intensified. She could not tear herself from the wondrous spectacle of crags, and peaks, and glaciers, amid a sea of clouds, of forest-mantled hills and verdant inter-vales, while the storm blackening in the distance, and piling up huge masses of angry rack, gave added grandeur to the scene. And Mario stood beside her, apparently sharing her enthusiasm and watching her raptures with lover-like eyes.

Mr. Bradford, tired of waiting for her ecstasies to come to an end, turned to follow the others, who were already beginning the downward scramble. With Gerfaut, the best of the guides, to take care of her, his little girl was safe, and might linger behind as long as she liked, he said. The old Legitimist raised his eyebrows as he glanced back at the trio on the summit. English fathers, he thought, were made of conveniently pliable stuff.

Violet was too absorbed to notice that she was left behind, but Mario saw the opportunity and seized it.

66

'Mademoiselle," he whispered hesitatingly, replacing a shawl that the wind had torn from the girl's shoulders, "Mademoiselle, you saw my brother; did he tell you his bad news?".

Violet turned quickly towards him. was the cause of his strange behaviour. heart, was expressed in her fair young face.

Bad news! That, then,
Alarmed pity filled her

Mario heaved a deep sigh, Yes! news that summoned him back to Venice; an old friend-of his brother-was dangerously ill, dying. He feared that both he and his brother must go. He looked overwhelmed with grief. How good he must be, thought Violet, to feel so strongly for his brother's friend.

"Must you go?" she asked plaintively, with questioning eyes.

At that moment a sudden gust of wind almost took her off her feet; dark clouds hid the sun; a dense mist came sweeping towards their rock-pinnacle from the storm-laden mountains behind them. The guide sprang towards her, and seized her arm, crying :-"We must hurry down, mademoiselle; in a few moments the storm will be on us." Mario followed, angrily striking his alpenstock against the rocks. Nature herself had robbed him of his golden opportunity. Now driven by the wind, now wrapped in blinding mist, they all three