LITMIR.BIZ

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to do honour to Mariandl’s thoughtfulness. As at their breakfast, they shared the last morsel.

      ‘But we would have made it enough for our dear old dog Pluto as well, if he had lived,’ said Carinthia, sighing with her thankfulness and compassionate regrets, a mixture often inspiring a tender babbling melancholy. ‘Dogs’ eyes have such a sick look of love. He might have lived longer, though he was very old, only he could not survive the loss of father. I know the finding of the body broke his heart. He sprang forward, he stopped and threw up his head. It was human language to hear him, Chillon. He lay in the yard, trying to lift his eyes when I came to him, they were so heavy; and he had not strength to move his poor old tail more than once. He died with his head on my lap. He seemed to beg me, and I took him, and he breathed twice, and that was his end. Pluto! old dog! Well, for you or for me, brother, we could not have a better wish. As for me, death! … When we know we are to die! Only let my darling live! that is my prayer, and that we two may not be separated till I am taken to their grave. Father bought ground for four—his wife and himself and his two children. It does not oblige us to be buried there, but could we have any other desire?’

      She stretched her hand to her brother. He kissed it spiritedly.

      ‘Look ahead, my dear girl. Help me to finish this wine. There ‘s nothing like good hard walking to give common wine of the country a flavour—and out of broken crockery.’

      ‘I think it so good,’ Carinthia replied, after drinking from the cup. ‘In England they, do not grow wine. Are the people there kind?’

      ‘They’re civilized people, of course.’

      ‘Kind—warm to you, Chillon?’

      ‘Some of them, when you know them. “Warm,” is hardly the word. Winter’s warm on skates. You must do a great deal for yourself. They don’t boil over. By the way, don’t expect much of your uncle.’

      ‘Will he not love me?’

      ‘He gives you a lodging in his house, and food enough, we’ll hope. You won’t see company or much of him.’

      ‘I cannot exist without being loved. I do not care for company. He must love me a little.’

      ‘He is one of the warm-hearted race—he’s mother’s brother; but where his heart is, I ‘ve not discovered.

      Bear with him just for the present, my dear, till I am able to support you.’

      ‘I will,’ she said.

      The dreary vision of a home with an unloving uncle was not brightened by the alternative of her brother’s having to support her. She spoke of money. ‘Have we none, Chillon?’

      ‘We have no debts,’ he answered. ‘We have a claim on the Government here for indemnification for property taken to build a fortress upon one of the passes into Italy. Father bought the land, thinking there would be a yield of ore thereabout; and they have seized it, rightly enough, but they dispute our claim for the valuation we put on it. A small sum they would consent to pay. It would be a very small sum, and I ‘m father’s son, I will have justice.’

      ‘Yes!’ Carthinia joined with him to show the same stout nature.

      ‘We have nothing else except a bit to toss up for luck.’

      ‘And how can I help being a burden on my brother?’ she inquired, in distress.

      ‘Marry, and be a blessing to a husband,’ he said lightly.

      They performed a sacrifice of the empty bottle and cracked cup on the site of their meal, as if it had been a ceremony demanded from travellers, and leaving them in fragments, proceeded on their journey refreshed.

      Walking was now high enjoyment, notwithstanding the force of the sun, for they were a hardy couple, requiring no more than sufficient nourishment to combat the elements with an exulting blood. Besides they loved mountain air and scenery, and each step to the ridge of the pass they climbed was an advance in splendour. Peaks of ashen hue and pale dry red and pale sulphur pushed up, straight, forked, twisted, naked, striking their minds with an indeterminate ghostliness of Indian, so strange they were in shape and colouring. These sharp points were the first to greet them between the blue and green. A depression of the pass to the left gave sight of the points of black fir forest below, round the girths of the barren shafts. Mountain blocks appeared pushing up in front, and a mountain wall and woods on it, and mountains in the distance, and cliffs riven with falls of water that were silver skeins, down lower to meadows, villages and spires, and lower finally to the whole valley of the foaming river, field and river seeming in imagination rolled out from the hand of the heading mountain.

      ‘But see this in winter, as I did with father, Chillon!’ said Carinthia.

      She said it upon love’s instinct to halo the scene with something beyond present vision, and to sanctify it for her brother, so that this walk of theirs together should never be forgotten.

      A smooth fold of cloud, moveless along one of the upper pastures, and still dense enough to be luminous in sunlight, was the last of the mist.

      They watched it lying in the form of a fish, leviathan diminished, as they descended their path; and the head was lost, the tail spread peacockwise, and evaporated slowly in that likeness; and soft to a breath of air as gossamer down, the body became a ball, a cock, a little lizard, nothingness.

      The bluest bright day of the year was shining. Chillon led the descent. With his trim and handsome figure before her, Carinthia remembered the current saying, that he should have been the girl and she the boy. That was because he resembled their mother in face. But the build of his limbs and shoulders was not feminine.

      To her admiring eyes, he had a look superior to simple strength and grace; the look of a great sky-bird about to mount, a fountain-like energy of stature, delightful to her contemplation. And he had the mouth women put faith in for decision and fixedness. She did, most fully; and reflecting how entirely she did so, the thought assailed her: some one must be loving him!

      She allowed it to surprise her, not choosing to revert to an uneasy sensation of the morning.

      That some one, her process of reasoning informed her, was necessarily an English young lady. She reserved her questions till they should cease this hopping and heeling down the zigzag of the slippery path-track. When children they had been collectors of beetles and butterflies, and the flying by of a ‘royal-mantle,’ the purple butterfly grandly fringed, could still remind Carinthia of the event it was of old to spy and chase one. Chillon himself was not above the sentiment of their “very early days”; he stopped to ask if she had been that lustrous blue-wing, a rarer species, prized by youngsters, shoot through the chestnut trees: and they both paused for a moment, gazing into the fairyland of infancy, she seeing with her brother’s eyes, this prince of the realm having escaped her. He owned he might have been mistaken, as the brilliant fellow flew swift and high between leaves, like an ordinary fritillary. Not the less did they get their glimpse of the wonders in the sunny eternity of a child’s afternoon.

      ‘An Auerhahn, Chillon!’ she said, picturing the maturer day when she had scaled perilous heights with him at night to stalk the blackcock in the prime of the morning. She wished they could have had another such adventure to stamp the old home on his heart freshly, to the exclusion of beautiful English faces.

      On the level of the valley, where they met the torrent-river, walking side by side with him, she ventured an inquiry: ‘English girls are fair girls, are they not?’

      ‘There are some dark also,’ he replied.

      ‘But the best-looking are fair?’

      ‘Perhaps they are, with us.’

      ‘Mother was fair.’

      ‘She was.’

      ‘I have only seen a few of them, once at Vies and at Venice, and those Baths we are going to; and at Meran, I think.’

      ‘You considered them charming?’

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