tender hearts and strong hands. Everything that ingenuity could
contrive was done to relieve the sufferer, and when at last, after weary
hours, they reached the high-road of the valley, a carriage was found
waiting. A messenger had been sent in advance to fetch it, and Mrs
Stoutley was in it.

There was something quite touching in the quiet, firm air of
self-restraint with which she met the procession, and afterwards tended
her poor boy; it was so unlike her old character!

The sun was setting in a field of golden glory when they carried Lewis
into the hotel at Chamouni, and laid him on his bed--a mere wreck of his
former self.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

DOWN IN THE MORAINE AT LAST.

As the reader may suppose, the terrible accident to Lewis Stoutley put
an end to further merry-making among our friends at Chamouni. Mrs
Stoutley would have left for England at once if that had been possible,
but Lewis could not be moved for several weeks. At first indeed, fears
were entertained for his life, but his constitution being good, and not
having been damaged by dissipation, he rallied sooner than might have
been expected, although it was evident from the beginning that complete
restoration could not be looked for until many months, perhaps years,
had passed away.

We need scarcely say, that the rapid improvement of his health was
largely due to the tender watchful care of his mother.

Since visiting Switzerland, that excellent lady's spirit had undergone a
considerable change. Without going minutely into particulars, we may
say that the startling events which had occurred had been made the means
of opening her spiritual eyes. It had occurred to her--she scarce knew
how or why--that her Creator had a claim on her for more consideration
than she had been in the habit, heretofore, of testifying by a few
formalities on Sundays; that there must be some higher end and aim in
life than the mere obtaining and maintaining of health, and the pursuit
of pleasure; and that as there was a Saviour, whom she professed on
Sundays to follow, there must be something real from which she had to be
saved, as well as something real that had to be done. Sin, she knew, of
course, was the evil from which everybody had to be saved; but, being a
good-natured and easy-going woman, she really did not feel much troubled
by sin. Little weaknesses she had, no doubt, but not half so many as
other people she knew of. As to anything seriously worth