im. While leading him to an hotel,
he explained the nature of Nita's attack as well as he could, and said
that she had not only refrained from saying anything about her father,
but that she seemed excessively unwilling to reveal the name of the
place to which he had gone, or to send for him.

"No one knows anything unfavourable about Count Horetzki," said Lewis,
in a gentle tone, "save his fellow-sinner, who now assures him of his
sincere regard. As for Antoine Grennon, he is a wise, and can be a
silent, man. No brother could be more tender of the feelings of others
than he. Come, you will consent to be my guest to-night. You are
unwell; I shall be your amateur physician. My treatment and a night of
rest will put you all right, and to-morrow, by break of day, we will hie
back to Chamouni over the Tete-Noire."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

MOUNTAINEERING IN GENERAL.

A week passed away, during which Nita was confined to bed, and the Count
waited on her with the most tender solicitude. As their meals were sent
to their rooms, it was not necessary for the latter to appear in the
_salle-a-manger_ or the _salon_. He kept himself carefully out of
sight, and intelligence of the invalid's progress was carried to their
friends by Susan Quick, who was allowed to remain as sick-nurse, and who
rejoiced in filling that office to one so amiable and uncomplaining as
Nita.

Of course, Lewis was almost irresistibly tempted to talk with Susan
about her charge, but he felt the impropriety of such a proceeding, and
refrained. Not so Gillie White. That sapient blue spider, sitting in
his wonted chair, resplendent with brass buttons and brazen impudence,
availed himself of every opportunity to perform an operation which he
styled "pumping;" but Susan, although ready enough to converse freely on
things in general, was judicious in regard to things particular.
Whatever might have passed in the sick-room, the pumping only brought up
such facts as that the Count was a splendid nurse as well as a loving
father, and that he and his daughter were tenderly attached to each
other.

"Well, Susan," observed Gillie, with an approving nod, "I'm glad to hear
wot you say, for it's my b'lief that tender attachments is the right
sort o' thing. I've got one or two myself."

"Indeed!" said Susan, "who for, I wonder?"

"W'y, for one," replied the spider, "I've had a wery tender attachment
to my mother ever since that blessed time w'en I was attac