ding nature of the "passed word," which is perhaps strongest in women
who are by nature and education cosmopolitan. She did not any more
persuade me against my attempt, and soon went within. She had said
little, and we had walked along together for the most part silent.
Methought the stars were not so bright to-night, and the glamour had
gone from the bridge under which the water was dashing white.

I also returned, for I had my arrangements to make for the expedition.
The weather did not look very promising, for the Thal wind was bringing
the heavy mist-spume pouring over the throat of the pass, and driving
past the hotel in thin hissing wisps on a chill breeze. However, even in
May the frost was keen at night, and to-morrow might be a day after the
climber's heart.

I sought the manager in his sanctum of polished wood--a _comptoir_ where
there was little to count. Managers were a fleeting race in the Kursaal
Promontonio. The Count was a kind master. But he was a Russian, and a
taskmaster like those of Egypt, in that he expected his managers to make
the bricks of dividends without the straw of visitors. With him I
covenanted to be roused at midnight.

Herr Gutwein was somewhat unwilling. He had not so many visitors that he
could afford to expend one on the cliffs of the Piz Langrev.

I looked out on the lake and the mountains from the window of my room
before I turned in. They did not look encouraging.

Hardly, it seemed, had my head touched the pillow, when "clang, clang"
went some one on my door. "It is half-past twelve, Herr, and time to get
up!"

I saw the frost-flowers on the window-pane, and shivered. Yet there was
the laughter of Henry and the Count to be faced; and, above all, I had
passed my word to Lucia.

"Well, I suppose I may as well get up and take a look at the thing, any
way. Perhaps it may be snowing," I said, with a devout hope that the
blinds of mist or storm might be drawn down close about the mountains.

But, pushing aside the green window-blind, I saw all the stars
twinkling; and the broad moon, a little worm-eaten about the upper edge,
was flinging a pale light over the Forno glacier and the thick pines
that hide Lake Cavaloccia.

"Ah, it is cold!" I flung open the hot-air register, but the fires were
out and the engineer asleep, for a draft of icy wind came up--direct
from the snowfields. I slammed it down, for the mercury in my
thermometer was falling so rapidly that I seemed to hear