shohe that I
first loved her, and I fancied she was afraid lest her behavior on the
bridge had seemed a little bold. I told her it was divine, and pictured
the scene as only an anxious lover could do. Then she burst into tears,
and we went back silently to her relatives. She would not say a word
to me.

[Illustration]

"We drove to Sondrio, and before we reached it I dare say I was as pale
as she. A horrible thought had flashed upon me. At Sondrio I took her
papa aside, and, without telling him what had happened, questioned him
about his impressions of Franzenshohe. 'You remember the little bridge,'
he said, 'that we were all afraid to cross; by Jove! I have often
wondered who that girl was that ventured over it first.'

"I hastened away from him to think. My fears had been confirmed. It was
not she who had first crossed the plank. Therefore it was not she with
whom I had fallen in love. Nothing could be plainer than that I was in
love with the wrong person. All the time I had loved another. But who
was she? Besides, did I love her? Certainly not. Yes, but why did I love
this one? The whole foundation of my love had been swept away. Yet the
love remained. Which is absurd.

"At Colico I put the difficulty to her father; but he is stout, and did
not understand its magnitude. He said he could not see how it mattered.
As for her, I have never mentioned it to her again; but she is always
thinking of it, and so am I. A wall has risen up between us, and how to
get over it or whether I have any right to get over it, I know not. Will
you help me--and her?"

"Certainly not," I said.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XIX.

PRIMUS.

Primus is my brother's eldest son, and he once spent his Easter
holidays with me. I did not want him, nor was he anxious to come, but
circumstances were too strong for us, and, to be just to Primus, he did
his best to show me that I was not in his way. He was then at the age
when boys begin to address each other by their surnames.

I have said that I always took care not to know how much tobacco I
smoked in a week, and therefore I may be hinting a libel on Primus when
I say that while he was with me the Arcadia disappeared mysteriously.
Though he spoke respectfully of the Mixture--as became my nephew--he
tumbled it on to the table, so that he might make a telephone out of
the tins, and he had a passion for what he called "snipping cigars."
Scrymgeour gave him a cigar-cutte