he young Lieutenant--who was
clad in a travelling-suit of gray, by-the-way, and looked remarkably like
the other young Englishmen loitering about the front of the
hotel--emerged from his shelter, shook the rain-drops from his sleeves,
and passed on into the dark.

The very next morning the Beresfords left Lucerne for Zurich. They
stayed there three days--Nan busy all the time in teaching herself how to
propel a boat with two oars, her face to the bow; and she liked to
practise most in moonlight. Then they left Zurich one afternoon, and
made their way southward into the mountainous region adjacent to the
sombre Wallensee. The stormy sunset deepened and died out; rain, rain,
rain pursued them all the way to Chur. They got to their hotel there in
an omnibus that jolted through the mud and the darkness.

But next morning, when Nan Beresford went to the window of the little
sitting-room and looked abroad, she uttered a cry of surprise that was
also meant as a call to wake her sleeping sisters. She stepped out on to
a wooden balcony, and found herself poised high above the flooded river
that was roaring down its channel, while in front of her was the most
vivid and brilliant of pictures, the background formed by a vast
semicircle of hills. She had it all to herself on this lovely
morning--the fresh air and sunlight; the plunging river below; the
terraced gardens on the opposite bank; over that again, the tumbled-about
collection of gleaming white houses, and green casements, and red roofs,
and old towers and belfries; and then, higher still, and enclosing, as it
were, the picturesque little town, the great ethereal amphitheatre of
pale blue mountains, with here and there a sprinkling of snow glittering
sharply, as if it were quite close at hand. How fresh and cold the
morning air was, after the sultry atmosphere of the lakes! How beautiful
the snow was! Nan did not like to be alone. She wished to share her
delight with some one. 'Edith! Edith!' she called. There was no answer.

Suddenly she found she was no longer the solitary possessor of this
brilliant little picture. Happening to turn her head somewhat, she
perceived some one coming across the bridge; and, after a minute's
surprise and doubt and astonishment, she convinced herself that the
stranger was no other than Frank King. The discovery startled her. This
time it could be no mere coincidence. Surely he was following them?
Could it be possible that h