ad lost Chillon, no one was near to do so much. Besides, Chillon
loved Henrietta; he was her own. His heart was hers and his mind his
country's. This gentleman loved the mountains; the sight of him breathed
mountain air. To see him next day was her anticipation: for it would be
at the skirts of hilly forest land, where pinetrees are a noble family,
different from the dusty firs of the weariful plains, which had tired
her eyes of late.

Baden was her first peep at the edges of the world since she had grown
to be a young woman. She had but a faint idea of the significance of
gambling. The brilliant lights, the band music, the sitting groups and
company of promenaders were novelties; the Ball of the ensuing night
at the Schloss would be a wonder, she acknowledged in response to
Henrietta, who was trying to understand her; and she admired her
ball-dress, she said, looking unintelligently when she heard that she
would be guilty of slaying numbers of gentlemen before the night was
over. Madame Clemence thought her chances in that respect as good as any
other young lady's, if only she could be got to feel interested. But at
a word of the pine forest, and saying she intended to climb the hills
early with the light in the morning, a pointed eagerness flushed
Carinthia, the cold engraving became a picture of colour.

She was out with the earliest light. Yesterday's parting between Chillon
and Henrietta had taught her to know some little about love; and if her
voice had been heeded by Chillon's beloved, it would not have been a
parting. Her only success was to bring a flood of tears from Henrietta.
The tears at least assured her that her brother's beautiful girl had no
love for the other one,--the young nobleman of the great wealth, who was
to be at the Ball, and had 'gone flying,' Admiral Fakenham shrugged to
say; for Lord Fleetwood was nowhere seen.

The much talk of him on the promenade overnight fetched his name to her
thoughts; he scarcely touched a mind that her father filled when she
was once again breathing early morning air among the stems of climbing
pines, broken alleys of the low-sweeping spruce branches and the bare
straight shafts carrying their heads high in the march upward. Her old
father was arch-priest of such forest land, always recoverable to her
there. The suggestion of mountains was enough to make her mind play, and
her old father and she were aware of one another without conversing in
speech. He pointed a