said, "we owe you an apology. I am sure we can't have said any thing we should mind you hearing; but "Oh!" I interrupted, "you have told me nothing I did not know already, except that Mrs. Wilson was a relation, of which I was quite ignorant." "It is true enough though." "I think, when I gather my recollections of the matter I think she was first cousin to your mother-perhaps it was only second cousin." "Why shouldn't she have told me so then?" "She must explain that herself. I cannot account for that. It is very extraordinary." 66 "But how do you know so well about me, sir if you don't mind saying?" "Oh! I am an old friend of the family. I knew your father better than your uncle though. Your uncle is not over friendly, you see." "Oh yes," said Mr. Coningham, "I remember hearing you were at school together somewhere in this quarter. But tell us all about it. Did you lose your way?" I told them my story. Even Clara looked grave when I came to the incident of finding myself on the verge of the precipice. "Thank God, my boy!" said Mr. Coningham kindly. "You have had a narrow escape. I lost myself once in the Cumberland hills, and hardly got off with my life. Here it is a chance you were ever seen again, alive or dead. I wonder you're not knocked up." I was however more so than I knew. “How are you going to get home?” he asked. "I don't know any way but walking," I answered. "Are you far from home?" "I don't know. I daresay the people here will be able to tell me. But I think "I am sorry for that." you said you were going down into the "No occasion at all. I suppose he Grindelwald. I shall know where I am doesn't like me. I fancy, being a Metho- there. Perhaps you will let me walk with dist you. Horses can't go very fast along these roads." 66 My uncle is not a Methodist, I assure you. He goes to the parish church regularly." "Oh! it's all one. I only meant to say that being a man of somewhat peculiar notions, I supposed he did not approve of my profession. Your good people are just as ready as others, however, to call in the lawyer when they fancy their rights invaded. Ha ha! But no one has a right to complain of another because he doesn't choose to like him. Besides it brings grist to the mill. If everybody liked everybody, what would become of the lawsuits? And that would unsuit us - wouldn't it, Clara?" "You know, papa dear, what mamma would say?" "But she ain't here, you know." "But I am, papa; and I don't like to hear you talk shop," said Clara coaxingly. "Very well; we won't then. But I was only explaining to Mr. Cumbermede how I supposed it was that his uncle did not like me. There was no offence in that, 1 hope, Mr. Cumbermede?" 66 "I am Certainly not," I answered. the only offender. But I was innocent enough as far as intention goes. I came in drenched and cold, and the good people here amused themselves dressing me like a girl. It is quite time I were getting home now. Mr. Forest will be in a way about me. So will Charley Osborne." You shall have my horse, my boy." "No. I couldn't think of that." "You must. I haven't been wandering all day like you. You can ride, I suppose?" Yes, pretty well." "Then you shall ride with Clara, and I'll walk with the guide. I shall go and see after the horses presently." It was indeed a delightful close to a dreadful day. We sat and chatted awhile, and then Clara and I went out to look at the Jungfrau. She told me they had left her mother at Interlaken, and had been wandering about the Bernese Alps for nearly a week. "I can't think what should have put it in papa's head," she added; "for he does not care much for scenery. I fancy he wants to make the most of poor me, and so takes me the grand tour. He wanted to come without mamma, but she said we were not to be trusted alone. She had to give in when we took to horseback, though." It was getting late, and Mr. Coningham came out to find us. "Nonsense. Why should any one want another to get his death of cold? If you are to keep alive, it's better to keep well as long as ever you can. Make haste though, and change your clothes." I hurried away, followed by Clara's merry laugh at my clumsy gait. In a few moments I was ready. Mr. Coningham had settled my bill for me. Mother and daughter gave me a kind farewell, and I exhausted my German in vain attempts to let them know how grateful I was for their goodness. There was not much time however to spend even on gratitude. The sun was nearly down, and I could see Clara mounted and waiting for me before the window. I found Mr. Coningham rather impatient. "Come along, Mr. Cumbermede; we must be off," he said. "Get up there." "You have grown though after all," said Clara. "I thought it might be only the petticoats that made you look so tall." I got on the horse which the guide, a half-witted fellow from the next valley, was holding for me, and we set out. The guide walked beside my horse, and Mr. Coningham beside Clara's. The road was level for a little way, but it soon turned up on the hill where I had been wandering, and went along the steep side of it. "Will this do for a precipice, Clara?" said her father. "Oh! dear no," she answered; "it's not worth the name. It actually slopes outward." Before we got down to the next level stretch it began again to rain. A mist came on, and we could see but a little way before us. Through the mist came the sound of the bells of the cattle upon the hill. Our guide trudged carefully but boldly on. He seemed to know every step of the way. Clara was very cool, her father a little anxious, and very attentive to his daughter, who received his help with a never-failing merry gratitude, making light of all annoyances. At length we came down upon the better road, and travelled on with more comfort. "Didn't you? Oh, you would like it so much!" "I don't think I should. I don't like religious books." "But that is such a good story!" "Oh! it's all a trap sugar on the outside of a pill! The sting's in the tail of it. They're all like that. I know them." This silenced me, and for a while we went on without speaking, The rain ceased; the mist cleared a little; and I began to think I saw some landmarks I knew. A moment more, and I perfectly understood where we were. "I'm all right now, sir," I said to Mr. Coningham. "I can find my way from here." As I spoke I pulled up and proceeded to dismount. "Sit still," he said. "We cannot do better than ride on to Mr. Forest's. I don't know him much, but I have met him, and in a strange country all are friends. Í daresay he will take us in for the night. Do you think he could house us?" "I have no doubt of it. For that matter, the boys could crowd a little." "Is it far from here?" "Not above two miles, I think." "Then you take the lead." I did so. He spoke to the guide, and Clara and I rode on in front. "You and I seem destined to have adventures together, Clara," I said. "It seems so. But this is not so much of an adventure as that night on the leads," she answered. "You would not have thought so if you had been with me in the morning." “Were you very much frightened ? ” "I was. you!" And then to think of finding them that must have been very attractive. "It was funny, certainly." When we reached the house, there was great jubilation over me, but Mr. Forest himself was very serious. He had not been back more than half an hour, and was just getting ready to set out again, accompanied by men from the village below. Most of the boys were quite knocked up, for they had been looking for me ever since they missed me. Charley was in a dreadful way. When he saw me he burst into tears, and declared he would never let me go out of his sight again. But if he had been with me, it would have been death to both of us: I could never have got him over the ground. Mr. and Mrs. Forest received their visitors with the greatest cordiality, and invited them to spend a day or two with them, to which, after some deliberation, Mr. Coningham agreed. CHAPTER XVIII. AGAIN THE ICE-CAVE. When we reached the village, I told Charley that we wanted to go on foot to the cave, and hoped he would not mind waiting our return. But he refused to be left, declaring he should not mind going in the least; that he was quite well now, and ashamed of his behaviour on the former occasion; that, in fact, it must have been his approaching illness that caused it. I could not insist, and we set out. The footpath led us through fields of corn, with a bright sun overhead, and a sweet wind blowing. It was a glorious day of golden corn, gentle wind, and blue sky with great masses of white snow, whiter than any cloud, held up in it. - We descended the steep bank; we crossed the wooden bridge over the little river; we crunched under our feet the hail-like crystals lying rough on the surface of the glacier; we reached the cave, and entered the blue abyss. I went first into the delicious, yet dangerous-looking blue. The cave had several sharp angles in it. When I reached the farthest corner I turned to look behind me. I was alone. I walked back and peeped round the last corner. Between that and the one beyond it stood Clara and Charley staring at each other with faces of ghastly horror. THE next morning he begged a holiday for me and Charley, of whose family he knew something although he was not acquainted with them. I was a little disappointed at Charley's being included in the request, not in the least from jealousy, but because I had set my heart on taking Clara's look certainly could not have Clara to the cave in the ice, which I knew been the result of any excess of imaginaCharley would not like. But I thought tion. But many women respond easily to we could easily arrange to leave him somewhere near until we returned. I spoke to Mr. Coningham about it, who entered into my small scheme with the greatest kindness. Charley confided to me afterwards that he did not take to him he was too like an ape, he said. But the impression of his ugliness had with me quite worn off; and for his part, if I had been a favourite nephew, he could not have been more complaisant and hearty. I felt very stiff when we set out, and altogether not quite myself; but the discomfort wore off as we went. Charley had Mr. Coningham's horse, and I walked by the side of Clara's, eager after any occasion, if but a pretence, of being useful to her. She was quite familiar with me, but seemed shy of Charley. He looked much more of a man than I; for not only, as I have said, had he grown much during his illness, but there was an air of troubled thoughtfulness about him which made him look considerably older than he really was; while his delicate complexion and large blue eyes had a kind of mystery about VOL. XXI. 941 LIVING AGE. influences they could not have originated. We came upon Mr. Coningham round the next corner, amusing hinself with the talk of the half-silly guide. "Where are you going?" he asked. "Out again," I answered. "The air is oppressive." 66 Nonsense," he said merrily. "The air is as pure as it is cold. Come, Clara; I want to explore the penetralia of this temple of Isis." I believe he intended a pun. Clara turned with him; Charley and I went out into the sunshine. "You should not have gone, Charley. You have caught a chill again," I said. 66 'No, nothing of the sort," he answered. "Only it was too dreadful. That lovely face! To see it like that—and know that is what it is coming to!" "Which is the sham, Miss Clara?" he asked. "That Eiger mountain there." "Then you are of my opinion, Mr. Osborne?" "You mean the mountain is shamming, don't you looking far off when really it is near? "Not at all. When it looked last night as if it hung right over our heads, it You looked as horrid yourself," I re- was shamming. See it nowfar away turned. there!" 66 "I don't doubt it. We all did. But why?" "Why, just because of the blueness," I answered. "Yes the blueness, no doubt. That was all. But there it was, you know." Clara came out smiling. All her horror had vanished. I was looking into the hole as she turned the last corner. When she first appeared, her face was "like one that hath been seven days drowned;" but as she advanced, the decay thinned, and the life grew, until at last she stepped from the mouth of the sepulchre in all the glow of her merry youth. It was a dumb show of the resurrection. As we went back to the inn, Clara, who was walking in front with her father, turned her head and addressed me suddenly. 66 You see it was all a sham, Wilfrid!" she said. "What was a sham? I don't know what you mean," I rejoined. "Why that," she returned, pointing with her hand. Then addressing her father, "Isn't that the Eiger," she asked "the same we rode under yesterday?" "To be sure it is," he answered. She turned again to me. "You see it is all a sham! Last night it pretended to be on the very edge of the road and handing over our heads at an awful height. Now it has gone a long way back, is not so very high, and certainly does not hang over. I ought not to have been satisfied with that precipice. It took me in." I did not reply at once. Clara's words appeared to me quite irreverent, and I recoiled from the very thought that there could be any sham in nature; but what to answer her I did not know. I almost began to dislike her; for it is often incapacity for defending the faith they love which turns men into persecutors. Seeing me foiled, Charley advanced with the doubtful aid of a sophism to help me. "But which then is the sham, and which is the true? It looked near yesterday and now it looks far away. Which is which?" 66 It must have been a sham yesterday; for although it looked near, it was very dull and dim, and you could only see the sharp outline of it." 66 | 1 "Aha!" thought I, "Miss Clara has found her match. They both know he is talking nonsense, yet she can't answer him. What she was saying was nonsense too, but I can't answer it either — not yet." I felt proud of both of them, but of Charley in especial, for I had had no idea he could be so quick. "What ever put such an answer in your head, Charley?" I exclaimed. "Oh! it's not quite original," he returned. "I believe it was suggested by two or three lines I read in a review just before we left home. They took a hold of me rather." He repeated half of the now well-known little poem of Shelley, headed Passage of the Apennines. He had forgotten the name of the writer, and it was many years before I fell in with them myself. "The Apennine in the light of day Is a mighty mountain dim and gray, storm." In the middle of it I saw Clara begin to titter, but she did not interrupt him. When he had finished, she said with a grave face, too grave for seriousness: "Will you repeat the third line - I think it was, Mr. Osborne?" He did so. "What kind of eggs did the Apennine lay, Mr. Osborne ?" she asked, still perfectly serious. Charley was abashed to find she could take advantage of probably a provincialism to turn into ridicule such fine verses. Before he could recover himself, she had planted another blow or two. "And where is its nest? Between the earth and the sky is vague. But then to be sure it must want a good deal of room. And after all, a mountain is a strange fowl, and who knows where it might lay? Between earth and sky is quite definite enough? Besides, the bird-nesting boys might be dangerous if they knew where it was. It would be such a find for them!" My champion was defeated. Without attempting a word in reply, he hung back and dropped behind. Mr. Coningham must have heard the whole, but he offered no remark. I saw that Charley's sensitive nature was hurt, and my heart was sore for him. "That's too bad of you, Clara," I said. "What's too bad of me, Wilfrid?" she returned. I hesitated a moment, then answered "To make game of such verses. Any one with half a soul must see they were fine." 66 were too hard on Wilfrid; and he hadn't anything at hand to say for himself." "And you were too hard upon me, weren't you? Two to one is not fair play - is it now?" "No; certainly not." "And that justified a little false play on my part?" 66 re No, it did not," said Charley, almost fiercely. "Nothing justifies false play." "Not even yours, Mr. Osborne?" plied Clara, with a stately coldness quite marvellous in one so young; and leaving him, she came again to my side. I peeped at Mr. Coningham, curious to see how he regarded all this wrangling with his daughter. He appeared at once amused and satisfied. Clara's face was in a glow, clearly of anger at the discourteous manner in which Charley had spoken. "You mustn't be angry with Charley, Clara," I said. "He is very rude," she replied indignantly. 66 What he said was rude, I allow, but Charley himself is anything but rude. I haven't looked at him, but I am certain he is miserable about it already." "So he ought to be. To speak like that to a lady, when her very friendliness put her off her guard! I never was treated so in all my life." Very wrong of you, indeed, my dear," She spoke so loud that she must have said Mr. Coningham from behind, in a meant Charley to hear her. But when I voice that sounded as if he were smother-looked back, I saw that he had fallen a ing a laugh; but when I looked round, his face was grave. "Then I suppose that half soul I haven't got," returned Clara. "Oh! I didn't mean that," I said, lamely enough. "But there's no logic in that kind of thing, you know." "You see, papa," said Clara, "what you are acountable for. Why didn't you make them teach me logic?" Her father smiled a pleased smile. His daughter's naïveté would in his eyes make up for any lack of logic. "Mr. Osborne," continued Clara, turning back, "I beg your pardon. I am a woman, and you men don't allow us to learn logic. But at the same time you must confess you were making a bad use of yours. You know it was all nonsense you were trying to pass off on me for wisdom." He was by her side the instant she spoke to him. A smile grew upon his face: I could see it growing, just as you see the sun growing behind a cloud. In a moment it broke out in radiance. "I confess," he said. "I thought you long way behind, and was coming on very slowly, with dejected look and his eyes on the ground. Mr. Coningham did not interfere by word or sign. When we reached the inn he ordered some refreshment, and behaved to us both as if we were grown men. Just a touch of familiarity was the sole indication that we were not grown men. Boys are especially grateful for respect from their superiors, for it helps them to respect themselves; but Charley sat silent and gloomy. As he would not ride back, and Mr. Coningham preferred walking too, I got into the saddle and rode by Clara's side. As we approached the house, Charley crept up to the other side of Clara's horse, and laid his hand on his mane. When he spoke, Clara started, for she was looking the other way and had not observed his approach. "Miss Clara," he said, "I am very sorry I was so rude. Will you forgive me?" Instead of being hard to reconcile, as I had feared from her outburst of indignation, she leaned forward and laid her hand |