THE YOUNG MAN WITH THE BARE KNEES
"THIS is perfectly _awful_!" groaned the unfortunate lady who passed
under the name of Miss Collinson.
"Perfectly _splendid_!" corrected her companion.
The elder lady pressed Baedeker convulsively to her bosom, and sat
down. "I shall have to stop here," she gasped, "all the rest of my
life, and have my meals and night things sent up to me. I'm very
sorry; but I shall never move again."
"Don't be absurd, dear; we're absolutely safe," said Sylvia. "I may be
a selfish little wretch, but I wouldn't for worlds have brought you
into danger. You've come so far; surely you can come a little farther?
_Baedeker_ says you can. In ten minutes you'll be at the top."
"You might as well say I'll be in my grave; it amounts to much the
same thing," retorted Miss Collinson, who was really Miss Jane
M'Pherson, and had been Sylvia's governess. "I can't look down; I
can't look up, because I keep thinking of what's behind me. After I
get my breath and get used to things, I may be comparatively
comfortable _here_; but as to stirring, there's no use thinking of
it."
"You'd make an ideal hermitess," said Sylvia. "You've the very
features for that profession; austere, yet benevolent. But you're not
_really_ afraid now?"
"Not sitting down," admitted Miss M'Pherson, gradually regaining her
accustomed calm. "Do you think you'd be afraid, and lose your head or
anything, if I just strolled on to the top for the view, and came back
to you in about half an hour?"
"No--o," said the governess. "I may as well accustom myself to
loneliness, since I am obliged to spend my remaining years on
this spot. But I'm not at all sure that the Grand Duchess would
approve----"
"You mean Lady de Courcy. She wouldn't mind. She knows I have a
steady head, and--physically--a good heart. Besides, I shall have only
myself to look after; and one doesn't need a chaperon for a morning
call on a mountain view."
"I'm not so certain about _this_ mountain view!"
"You're very subtle. But I _really_ haven't come out to look for him
this morning. There's plenty of time for that by and by."
"Dear Princess, don't speak as if you could possibly do such a thing
at _any_ time."
"Miss de Courcy, please! Why do you suppose we are all in _das Land im
Gebirge_, if not to pursue a certain imperial eagle to his eyrie,
where he masquerades as a common bird?"
"Ah, my dear, don't demean yourself, even to me, who know you so well.
You are here not to _pursue_, but to give an Emperor who wants a
Princess for his consort a chance to fall in love with herself."
"If he will! But what do Mary de Courcy and Jane Collinson know about
the affairs of emperors and princesses? _Au revoir_, dear friend.
Presently, if you find the courage to look, you will see me waving a
handkerchief-flag at the top."
Sylvia took up her alpenstock and pushed on. There was a route to the
highest peak of the Weisshorn only to be attacked by experienced
climbers; but the path along which she and Miss M'Pherson had set out
from Heiligengelt four hours ago was merely tedious, never dangerous.
Sylvia knew that her governess was safe and not half as much
frightened by the unaccustomed height as she pretended.
They had started at half-past seven, just as a September sun was
beginning to draw the night chill out of the keen mountain air; and it
was now nearly twelve. Sylvia was hungry.
In Wandeck, the second largest town of Rhaetia, she had bought
rücksacks for herself and Miss M'Pherson; and to-day these
acquisitions were being tested for the first time. Each bag stored an
abundant luncheon for its bearer while on top, secured by straps
passed across the shoulders, reposed a wrap to be used in rain or rest
after violent exercise. Sylvia's rücksack grew heavy as she ascended,
though at first its weight had seemed insignificant; and spying at a
distance a green plateau on the mountainside, it occurred to her that
it might be well to lighten the load and satisfy her appetite at the
same time.
"That good M'Pherson is quite happy with Baedeker and won't be vexed
if I am gone a little longer than I said," she assured herself. There
was no gracious plateau at the top of the Weisshorn; only a sterile
heap of rocks on which to stand for self-gratulation or incidentally
to admire the view, and there was, besides, enough difficulty in
reaching this lower point of vantage to make the venture attractive.
The path zig-zagged up, a mere scratch on the face of the mountain;
but the plateau, like a terrace laid out upon a buttress, could be
gained only by scrambling over rough rocks and climbing in good
earnest here and there. Beyond the visible strip of green, the natural
terrace stretched away into mystery round the corner like the end of a
picture in perspective.
Sylvia calculated the effort and decided that she was equal to it; but
before she had gone halfway, she would gladly have stood once more on
the path worn by the feet of less ambitious travellers. She even felt
a certain sympathy with the sentiments Miss M'Pherson had expressed;
yet there was nothing to do but go on. It would be worse to turn than
to proceed. Her cheeks began to burn, and her heart to tap a warning
against her side. How huge a giant was this mountain--towering above
her, falling sheer away beneath her feet, down there where she did not
care to look how--pitifully insignificant she!
But there was the plateau, bathed in sunshine like the Promised Land.
And to her ears was wafted therefrom the sound of a man's voice,
cheerily, melodiously jödelling.
"What if it should be he?" thought Sylvia. She had come all the way
from England to meet him, and it was hard that he should jödel while
she perished. Much good would it do her if her spirit beheld him
bending over her crushed material remains.
Still the voice of the invisible one jödelled on.
"Help!" Sylvia added an impromptu to the chorus. "He may as well save
me, be he emperor or tourist. Oh, I hope this isn't a lesson not to
climb too high. Ought I to call for help in Rhaetian or English? I'll
try both, to make quite sure."
She did try both, with the result that the jödelling suddenly stopped.
Instead, an iron-shod boot rang against a rock. Forgetting fear in
desire to know whether the actor now to appear for the first time on
her life's stage would be hero or super, her foot slipped from its
scanty hold. Stumbling, she slid from the rocky ledge down to the
plateau, finally landing on her knees at the feet of a young man who
strode hastily round the corner.
"Himmel!" exclaimed a voice, half laughing, half startled. She dared
not look up, lest she should meet disappointment. Would it be he, sent
to her by Destiny, or some tourist, sent by Cook?
One who knew Maximilian's habits well (the only one, besides her
mother, wholly taken into confidence) had told her that to find him as
a man, and not an emperor, she should make her pilgrimage to
Heiligengelt in the chamois-hunting season. She had remembered this
hint. She had come; was she now about to see?
Two brown hands were held out to help her. Slowly she raised her eyes.
They travelled up and up. Beginning with a pair of big nailed boots,
they glided over the knitted detail of woollen stockings, and were
stopped for an instant at an unexpected obstacle in the shape of bare,
muscular brown knees. (Thank goodness, at least Fate had spared her a
tourist!) Short, shabby trousers; a gray coat, passemoiled with green,
from one pocket of which protruded a great hunch of bread and ham,
evidently just thrust in; broad shoulders; a throat like a column of
bronze; a face--the blood leaped in Sylvia's veins and sang in her
ears. It was he--it was he! Here was the eyrie: the eagle was at home.
All her life had but led up to this moment. Under the soft hat of
green felt, adorned with the beard of a chamois, was the face she had
dreamed of by night and day. A dark, austere face, with more of Mars
than Apollo in its lines, but to her worth all the ideals of all the
sculptors in the world. He was dressed as a chamois-hunter, and there
was nothing in the well-worn costume to distinguish the wearer from
the type he represented; but as easily might the eagle to whom she
likened him try to pass for a barnyard fowl as this man for a peasant--
so Sylvia thought.
She hoped that he did not feel the beating in her fingers-ends as he
caught her hands, lifted and set her on her feet. There was
humiliation in this tempest of her pulses, knowing that he did not
share it. To her, this meeting was an epoch: to him, a trivial
incident. She would have keyed his emotion to hers, if she could, but
since she had had years of preparation, he a single moment, perhaps
she might have rested satisfied with the expression in his eyes.
It said, had she been calm enough to read it: "Is heaven raining
goddesses to-day?"
Now, what was she to say to him? How make the most of this wonderful
chance that had come, to know the man and not the Emperor? Each word
should be chosen, like a bit of mosaic that fits into a complicated
pattern. She should marshal her sentences as a general marshals his
battalions, with a plan of campaign for each one. A spirit-monitor (a
match-making monitor) seemed to whisper these advices in her ear; yet
she was powerless to heed them. Like a school girl about to be
examined for a scholarship, knowing that all the future might depend
upon a single hour, the need to be resourceful left her dumb. How many
times had she not planned her first conversation with Maximilian, the
first words she should speak to rivet his attention, to make him feel
that she was subtly different from any woman he had ever known? But
now, epigrams turned tail and raced away from her like playful colts
refusing to be caught.
"I hope you are not hurt?" asked the chamois-hunter, in the _patois_
dear to the mountain-folk of Rhaetia.
Here was a comfort; at least she was not to have the responsibility of
playing the first card. Meekly she followed his lead.
"Only in the pride that comes before a fall," she answered, in the
tongue she had delighted to learn, because it was her hero's. "There
should be a sign between the path and this plateau: 'All save suicides
should beware.'"
"We have never thought of the necessity, my mates and I," said the man
in the gray coat passemoiled with green. "Until you came,
_gna' Fräulein_, no tourist has cared to run the risk."
Sylvia's eyes lit suddenly with a sapphire spark. The spirit of
mischief nipped her beating heart between rosy thumb and finger,
daring her to a frolic--such a frolic as no girl on earth had ever
had. And she would show this grave, austere, self-centred young hero a
phase of life he had not seen before. Then, let come what would out of
this adventure, at least she should have an Olympian episode to
remember.
"Until _I_ came?" She caught up the words, standing before him on the
spot where he had placed her. "But I am no tourist; I am an explorer."
He raised level, dark eyebrows; and when he smiled half his austerity
was gone. So beautiful a girl need be no more than commonplace of
thought and speech; indeed, the hunter of chamois expected little else
from women. Yet this one bade fair to have surprises in reserve. He
had brought down marvellous game to-day, such as no hunter before him
had ever found upon the mountain-side.
"I know the Weisshorn well," said he, "and love it; but I cannot see
how it rewards the explorer unless you are a climber or a geologist."
"I am neither; but I came in search of something that I have wanted
all my life to see," replied the girl.
His face confessed curiosity. "Might one ask the name of the rare
thing? Perhaps one might help in the search."
"I feel sure," replied Sylvia graciously, "that you could help me, if
you would, as well as any one on earth."
"That is good hearing, lady, though I know not yet how I have deserved
the compliment. First I must hear what you seek, and then----"
"I seek a rare plant, that grows only in high, places. It is said to
be found here at certain seasons; though I have never met any one who
can boast of plucking it. I would that I could be the first."
"Is it the Edelweiss, _gna' Fräulein_. Because, if so, I know where to
take you."
She shook her head. "The botanical name is very hard to pronounce. But
it is sometimes called by common people _Edelmann_. I should be
disappointed to go away without a sight of it though I was warned it
would not be wise to come."
"Those were wise who warned you, lady. I know of no such plant as that
you mention. If it were here, I must have seen it. The chance was not
worth the danger you have run."
"Oh, yes, the chance _was_ worth the danger. You--a chamois-hunter--to
say that! You must run a thousand risks a day in seeking what you
want."
"But I am a man. You are a woman; and women should keep to beaten
paths and safety."
"I wonder, is that the theory of all Rhaetians? I know your Emperor
holds it."
"Who told you that, _gna' Fräulein_." He gave her a sharp look; but
her violet eyes were innocent of guile, as the flowers they resembled.
"Oh, many people. We hear much of him in England."
"Good things or bad?"
"The things that he deserves. Now, can you guess which? But I could
tell you more if I were not so very, very hungry. I can't help seeing
your luncheon, thrust into your pocket, perhaps, when you came to help
me. Do you want it all" (she carefully ignored the contents of her
rücksack), "or--would you share it?"
The chamois-hunter looked surprised. But then this was his first
experience of a feminine explorer, and he quickly rose to the
occasion.
"There is more bread and ham where this came from," he replied, with
flattering alacrity. "Will you be graciously pleased to accept
something of our best?"
"If _you_ please, then I shall be much pleased," she responded. Miss
M'Pherson was forgotten. Fortunately the deserted lady was supplied
with congenial literature, down below.
"I and some friends of mine have a sort of--hut round the corner,"
announced the chamois-hunter, with a gesture that indicated direction.
"No woman has ever been our guest there, but I invite you to come, if
you will. Or, if you prefer, remain here, and in a few minutes I will
bring you such food as we have. At best it is not much to boast of. We
chamois-hunters are poor men, living roughly."
Sylvia smiled, and imprisoned each new thought of mischief like a
trapped bird. "I've heard you're rich in hospitality," she said. "Now
is my chance to prove the story."
The eyes of the hunter, dark, brilliant, and keen as an eagle's,
pierced hers. "You have no fear?" he said. "You are a woman, alone, in
a desolate place. For what you know, my mates and I may be a set of
brigands."
"Baedeker does not mention the existence of brigands at present in the
Rhaetian Alps," retorted Sylvia, with quaint dryness. "I have always
found him very trustworthy. I've great faith in the chivalry of
Rhaetian men, whose Emperor--though he thinks meanly of women--sets so
good an example. But if you knew how hungry I am, you would not keep
me waiting for talk of brigands. Bread and butter is far more to the
point."
"Even search for the _Edelmann_ may wait?"
"Yes; the _Edelmann may_ wait--on me." (The last two words were added
in whisper.)
"You must pardon my going first," said the young man with the bare
knees. "The way here is too narrow for politeness."
"Yet I wish that our peasants at home had such courteous manners as
yours," Sylvia patronized him. "You Rhaetians need not go to Court, I
see, for rules of behaviour."
"The mountains teach us some thing, maybe."
"Something of their greatness, which we should all do well to learn.
But have you never lived in a town?"
"A man of my sort _exists_ in a town; he lives in the mountains." With
this diplomatic answer the tall figure swung round a corner formed by
a boulder, and Sylvia uttered an exclamation of surprise. The "hut" of
which the chamois-hunter had spoken was revealed by the turn, and it
was of an original and picturesque description. Instead of the humble
erection of stones and wood which she had expected, the rocky side of
the mountain had been utilized to afford her sons a shelter.
A doorway, and large square panes for windows, had been made in the
red-veined, purplish-brown porphyry; while a heavy slab of oak (now
standing ajar), and wooden frames, glittering with jewel-like
bottle-glass, protected the rooms within from storm or cold.
Even had the Princess been ignorant of her host's identity she would
have been wise enough to know that this was no _Sennhutte_, or common
abode of peasants who hunt the chamois for a precarious living. The
work of hewing out in the solid rock such a habitation as this must
alone have cost more than most chamois-hunters could save in a
lifetime; but after her first ejaculation she expressed no further
amazement, only admiration.
The man stood aside that she might pass into the outer room, and,
though she was not invited to further exploration, she could see by
the several doors cut in the walls that this was not the sole
accommodation which the curious house could boast.
On the stone floor rugs of deer and chamois skin were spread; in a
rack of oak, ornamented with splendid antlers and studded with the
sharp, pointed horns of the chamois, were suspended guns of modern
make and brightly polished knives. The table in the middle of the room
had been carved with exceeding skill; and the half-dozen chairs were
oddly fashioned of stags antlers, formed to hold fur-cushioned, wooden
seats. A carved dresser of black oak held a store of the brightly
coloured china made by the peasants in the valley below, eked out with
platters and tankards of old pewter; and in the great fireplace a
gipsy kettle was suspended over a red bed of fragrant pine-wood
embers.
"This is a place fit for a king--or even an emperor," Sylvia said,
with demure graciousness, when the bare-kneed young man had offered
her a seat and crossed the room to open the closed cupboard under the
dresser. He was stooping as she spoke, but at her last words looked
quickly round over his shoulder.
"We peasants are not afraid of a little work when it is for our own
comfort," he responded, "And most of the things you see are homemade
during the long winters."
"Then you are all very clever. But, tell me, has the Emperor ever
been your guest? I have read--let me see, could it have been in a
guide-book, or perhaps in some society paper?--that he comes
occasionally to the mountains here."
"Oh yes; the Kaiser has been at this hut--once, twice, perhaps." Her
host laid a loaf of black bread, a cut cheese, and a knuckle of ham on
the table. He then glanced at his guest, expecting her to come
forward; but she sat still on her throne of antlers, her little feet
in their strong mountain boots, daintily crossed under the short tweed
skirt.
"I hear your Kaiser is a good chamois-hunter," she leisurely remarked.
"But that, perhaps, is only the flattery which makes the atmosphere of
kings. No doubt, you could give him many points in chamois-hunting?"
The young man smiled. "The Emperor is not a bad shot," he returned.
"For an amateur. But you are a professional. I wager now that you
would not change places with the Emperor?"
How the chamois-hunter laughed and showed his white teeth! There were
those in the towns he scorned, who would have been astonished at his
levity.
"Change places with the Emperor? Not--unless I were obliged, _gna'
Fräulein_. Not _now_, at all events," with a meaning bow and glance.
"Thank you. You are quite a courtier. One of the things they say of
him in England is that he dislikes women. But perhaps he does not
understand them?"
"Indeed, lady? I had not heard that they were so difficult of
comprehension."
"Ah, that shows how little you chamois-hunters know them. Why, we
can't even understand ourselves! Though--a very odd thing--we have no
difficulty in reading one another, and knowing all each other's
faults."
"That would seem to say a man should get a woman to choose his wife
for him."
"I'm not so sure. Yet the Emperor, we hear, will let his Chancellor
choose his."
"Ah! Were you told this also in England?"
"Yes. For the gossip is that she's an English Princess. Now, what is
the good of being an Emperor if he can't even pick out a wife to
please himself?"
"I know little about such high matters, _gna' Fräulein_. But I fancied
that Royal folk chose wives to please the people rather than
themselves. If the lady be of good blood, virtuous, of the right
religion, and pleasant to look at, why--those are the principal
things, I suppose."
"So should I not suppose, if I were a man--and an emperor. I should
want to fall in love."
"Safer not; he might fall in love with the wrong woman." And the
chamois-hunter looked with a certain intentness into his guest's deep
eyes.
She flushed under the gaze, and answered at random, "I doubt it he
_could_ fall in love. A man who would let his Chancellor choose! He
can have no heart at all."
"He has perhaps found other things more important in life than women."
"Chamois, for instance. _You_ would sympathize there."
"Chamois give good sport. They are hard to find; hard to hit when you
have found them."
"So are the best types of women. Those who, like the chamois (and the
plant I spoke of), live only in high places. Oh, for the sake of my
sex, I hope that one day your Emperor will be forced to change his
mind--that a _woman_ will make him change it!"
"Perhaps a woman has--already."
Sylvia grew pale. Was she too late? Or was this a hidden compliment
which the chamois-hunter did not guess she had the clue to understand?
She could not answer. The silence grew electrical, and he broke it
with some slight confusion. "It is a pity the Kaiser cannot hear you.
He might be converted to your more English views."
"Or he might clap me into prison for _lèse-majesté_."
"He would not do that, _gna' Fräulein_--if he's anything like me."
"Which is just what he is--in appearance, I mean, judging by his
pictures."
"You have seen his pictures?"
"Oh, yes--you are really rather like him, only browner and bigger,
perhaps. Yet I am glad that you are a chamois-hunter and not an
emperor--as glad as _you_ can be."
"Will you tell me why, lady?"
"Oh, for one reason because I could not ask him to do what I'm going
to ask of you. You have laid the bread and ham ready, but you forgot
to cut it."
"A thousand pardons. Our conversation has sent my wits wool-gathering.
My mind should have been on my manners, instead of such far-off things
as emperors." He began hewing at the black loaf as if it were an enemy
to be conquered. And there were few in Rhaetia who had ever seen those
dark eyes so bright.
"I like ham and bread cut thin, if you please," said Sylvia. "There--
that is better. I will sit here, if you will bring the things to me.
You are very kind--and I find that I am tired."
"A draught of our Rhaetian beer will put better heart into you, it may
be," suggested the hunter, taking up the plate of bread and meat he
had cut, placing it in her hand, and returning to draw a tankard of
foaming amber liquid from a quaint hogshead in a corner.
But Sylvia waved the _krug_ away with a smile and a pretty gesture.
"My head has proved to be not strong enough for your mountains; I'm
sure it isn't strong enough for your beer. Have you some cold water?"
The hunter of chamois laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Our water
here is fit only for the outside of the body," he explained. "To us,
that is no deprivation, as we are true Rhaetians for our beer. But on
your account I am sorry."
"Perhaps you have milk?" asked Sylvia. "I could scarcely count the
cows, they were so many as I came up the mountain."
"There are plenty of cows about," answered the young man dubiously.
"But if I fetch one, can you milk it?"
"Pray, good friend, fetch the cow and milk the cow," cried Sylvia.
"And here is a trifle to reward all your kindness and trouble."
She would not see the blood rising in a red tide to the brown
forehead, but bent her eyes upon her hand, from which she slowly
withdrew a ring. It fitted tightly, for it was years since she had had
it made, before the little fingers had finished growing. And when she
had pulled off the circlet of gold, she held it up alluringly.
"I will do my best to get you the milk," said the hunter, "but we
mountain men don't take payment from our guests."
"Here is no _payment_; only something to help you remember the first
woman who, as you say, has ever entered this door. Please come at
least and look."
The hunter drew near and took the proffered ornament. "The crest of
Rhaetia!" he exclaimed, as his eyes fell upon a shield of black and
green enamel, set with tiny, sparkling brilliants.
"Press a spring at the left side," directed the giver, a faint tremor
in her voice; "and when you have seen the secret it will show, you may
guess why I spoke at first of the ring as a reward, and why you can't
loyally refuse to accept it."
The brown forefinger found a pin's point prominence of gold, and
pressing, the shield flew up to reveal a miniature of Emperor
Maximilian.
"You are surprised?" said Sylvia.
"I am surprised, because I understood that you thought poorly of our
Kaiser."
"_Poorly_. What gave you that impression?"
"Why, you scorned his opinion of women."
"Who am I to scorn an emperor's opinion, even on a matter he would
consider so unimportant? I confess we English girls are interested in
your Maximilian, if only because we would be charitably minded and
teach him better. But as for the ring they sell such things in Wandeck
and many of the towns I have been visiting in Rhaetia. Did you not
know that?"
"No, lady, I did not know it."
Nor, as a plain matter of fact, did Sylvia. She had first acted on
impulse, and then spoken at random. The ring had been made to order
from a design of her own, while she herself had painted the tiny
miniature on ivory. But she had been urged by a sudden desire to see
him lift the jewelled shield; and the time was not yet ripe for
confessions. "Keep the trinket for your Kaiser's sake," she said.
"May I not keep it for yours as well?"
"Yes--if you bring me the milk."
The chamois-hunter caught up a gaudy jug, and, without further words,
strode out. When he had gone, the Princess rose and lifting the knife
he had used to slice the bread and ham, she kissed the handle on the
place where his brown fingers had grasped "You are a very silly girl,
my dear," she said. "But oh! how you do love him! And what an
exquisite hour you are having!"
For ten minutes she sat alone; then the door was flung open and her
host returned, no longer with the gay air that had sat like a new
cloak upon him, but hot and sulky, the jug in his hand empty still.
"I could not milk the cow," he admitted shortly. "I chased one brute
and then another; one I caught, but something was wrong with the
abominable beast, for no milk would she give me."
"Pray don't mind," Sylvia soothed him, hiding laughter. "You were kind
to try. Luckily you're not the Kaiser, who prides himself on doing all
things. I wonder, now, if _he_ could milk a cow?"
"He should learn, if not," broke out the chamois-hunter. "There's no
telling, it seems, when one may want the strangest accomplishments,
and be shamed for lack of them."
"No, not shamed," protested Sylvia. "I am no longer thirsty, and you
have been so good. See; while you were gone, I ate the bread-and-ham,
and never did any meal taste better. Now, you will have many things to
do; I've trespassed too long; and, besides, I have a friend waiting.
Will you tell me by what name I shall remember you when I recall this
day?"
"They named me--for the Kaiser."
"Oh, then I shall call you Max. _Max_! What a nice name! I like it, I
think, as well as any I have ever heard. Will you shake hands for
good-bye?"
The strong hand came out eagerly. "But it is not good-bye, _gna'
Fräulein_. You must let me help you back to the path and down the
mountain."
"I wished, but dared not ask that of you, lest--like your namesake--
you were a hater of women.
"That is too hard a word, even for an emperor, lady. While as for me--
well, if I ever said to myself, 'Women are not much good to men as
their companions', I'm ready to unsay it."
"Then you shall come with me, and we'll look for the _Edelmann_,
though I've wasted too much time over my own pleasure. And you shall
help me; and you shall help my friend, who is so strong-minded that
she will perhaps make you think even better of our sex. And you shall
be our guide down to Heiligengelt, where we are staying at the inn.
And you shall, if you will, carry our cloaks and rücksacks, which seem
so heavy to us, but will be nothing for your strong shoulders."
The face of the chamois-hunter expressed such mirthful appreciation of
her commands, that Sylvia turned her head away, lest he should guess
she held a key to the inner situation. His willingness to become a
beast of burden at the service of the English lady whom he had seen,
and her whom he had yet to see, was indubitably genuine. For the next
few hours he was free, it seemed--this namesake of the Emperor. He had
been out before dawn, and had had good luck. Later, he had returned to
the hut for a meal and rest, while his friends went down to the
village on business. But he had meant all along to join them sooner or
later; and he hoped that he might atone by his assistance for his
failure with the cow.
"Do not go away thinking that we Rhaetians, Royal or peasant, are so
cold of heart as you have fancied, _gna' Fräulein_," he said at last,
when their _tête-à-tête_ ended with a sight of Miss M'Pherson's
distant profile. "The torrent of our blood may sleep for a season
under ice, but when the spring comes, and the ice is broken, then the
torrent gushes forth more hotly because it has not spent its strength
before."
"I shall remember that," said Sylvia, "for--my journal of Rhaetia."
It was at this moment that the distant profile became a full face,
with telescopic eye-glasses, gazing starward.
* * * * *
"I thought you were never coming," exclaimed Miss M'Pherson; then
stopped abruptly at the sight of the young man with bare knees.
"Perhaps I never should, had it not been for the help of this good
friend," responded Sylvia; "for I got myself into unexpected
difficulties up there. His name is Max, and he is a monarch of--
chamois-hunters. Give him your rücksack and cape, dear Miss Collinson;
Max is kind enough to be our guide down the mountain, as you seemed so
timid about making the descent with me alone."
Miss M'Pherson, a staunch Royalist and firm believer in the divine
right of kings, grew crimson as to nose and ears--a mute protest
against this mischievous command. What a thing to have happened!
Here was her adored young Princess leading the Imperial Eagle
(disguised, indeed, yet Royal withal) a captive in chains. What
an achievement even for all-conquering beauty, within the space
of one short hour--short for so great a conquest, though it had
appeared long enough in waiting. Such triumph was no more than a
tribute due to that Rose-of-all-the-World, Princess Sylvia of
Eltzburg-Neuwald, and must have been given her by the patron saint
of lovers. But that Jane M'Pherson, daughter of a plain country parson
of Dumbartonshire, should fling upon the sacred shoulders of an emperor
her brown canvas rücksack, stuffed with eggs and bread and cheese; her
golf-cape, with goloshes in the pocket, was too monstrous. Her whole
nature revolted against the suggestion of such _lêse-majesté_.
"Pray, dearest P--Mary," the unhappy lady stammered, "don't ask me to--
really these things of mine are nothing. I can hardly feel their
weight."
"All the better for our friend Max, since he is to carry them," came
the calm response. "Help her to undo the buckles, please, Max. Now you
may have the pleasure of giving her your arm."