a final pull up a great white-fringed bastion of
rock. Here was the summit; and even as I reached it, over the Bernina
the morning was breaking clear.

I took from my back the pine-branch which had been such a difficulty to
me in the narrow places of the ascent; and with the first ray of the
morning sun, from the summit of Langrev the pennon of the Countess Lucia
streamed out. I thought of Manager Gutwein down there on the look-out,
and I rejoiced that I had pledged him to secrecy.

_Gutwein_--there was a sound as of cakes and ale in the very name.

A little way beneath the summit, where the Thal wind does not vex, I sat
me down on the sunny eastern side to consult with the Gutwein breakfast.
A bottle of cold tea--"Hum," said I; "that may keep till I get farther
down. It will be useful in case of emergency--there is nothing like cold
tea in an emergency. _Imprimis_, half a bottle of Forzato--our old Straw
wine. How thoughtless of Gutwein! He ought to have remembered that that
particular sort does not keep. We had better take it now!" There was
also half a chicken, some clove-scented Graubuendenfleisch, four large
white rolls, crisp as an Engadine cook can make them, half a pound of
butter in each--O excellent Gutwein--O great and judicious Gutwein!

But no more--for the sun was climbing the sky, and I must go down with a
rush to be in time for the late breakfast of the hotel.

The rocks came first--no easy matter with the sun on them for half an
hour; but they at last were successfully negotiated. Then came the long
snow-slope. This we went down all sails set. I hear that the process is
named glissading in this country. It is called hunker-sliding in
Scotland among the Galloway hills--a favourite occupation of
politicians. It added to the flavour that we might very probably finish
all standing in a crevasse. Snow rushed past, flew up one's nose and
froze there. It did not behave itself thus when we slid down Craig
Ronald and whizzed out upon the smooth breast of Loch Grannoch. I was
reflecting on this unwarrantable behaviour of the snow, when there came
a bump, a somersault, a slide, a scramble. "Dear me!" I say; "how did
this happen?" Ears, eyes, mouth, nose were full of fine powdered
snow--also, there were tons down one's back. Cold as charity, but no
great harm done.

The table was set for the _dejeuner_ in the dining-room of the hotel.
The Count was standing rubbing his hands. Henry, who had been shooting
at