Val Tremola_, or Trembling
Way, and he shook his comrade almost fiercely, as if relieved by some
idea which the place suggested.

"Hugenot," he said, "rouse up! The grandeur of the Alps is round about
us; you must not miss this scene. Come with me! Quit the vehicle! I know
the place, and will exhibit it."

The other, accustomed to obey, leaped to the ground immediately, and
followed through the snow, ankle deep, till they passed the diligence,
which kept in advance. The guard could not be seen--he might have
resorted to the interior; and the two pedestrians at once left the
roadway, climbing its elbows by a path more or less distinctly marked,
so that after a half hour they were perhaps a mile ahead. The agility of
Mr. Plade during this episode was the marvel of his companion. He scaled
the rocks like a goatherd, and his foot-tracks in the snow were long,
like the route of a giant. The ice could not betray the sureness of his
stride; the rare, thin atmosphere was no match for his broad, deep
chest. He shouted as he went, and tossed great boulders down the
mountain, and urged on his flagging comrade by cheer and taunt and
invective. No madman set loose from captivity could be guilty of so
extravagant, exaggerated elation.

At last they stood upon a little bridge spanning a chasm like a cobweb.
A low parapet divided it from the awful gulf. On the other side the
mountain lifted its jagged face, clammy with icicles, and far over all
towered the sterile peaks, above the reach of clouds or lightnings,
forever in the sunshine--forever desolate.

"Stand fast!" said the leader, suddenly cold and calm. "Uncover, that
the snow-flakes may give us the baptism of nature! There is no human God
at this vast height; they worship _Him_ in the flat world below. Give me
your hand and look down! You are not dizzy? One should be free from the
baseness of fear, standing here upon St. Gothard."

"If I had no qualm before," said Hugenot, "your words would make me
shudder."

"You have heard of the 'valley of the shadow'? Was your ideal like this?
I told you in Florence of the great poet Dante. You have here at a
glance more beauty and dread conjoined than even his mad fancy could
conjure up. That is the Tessino, braining itself in cataracts. Yonder,
where the clouds make a golden lake, laving forests of firs, lies Italy
as the Goths first beheld it, with their spears quivering. See how the
eagles beat the mist beneath!--that was a symbol