irection. Helen, who prided herself on her
sense of locality, decided that it would bring her to the valley in
which were situated, as she learned by the map, a small lake and a
glacier.

"That will be a fine walk before lunch," she said, "and it is quite
impossible to lose the way."

So she set off, crossing the hotel golf course, and making for a
typical Swiss church that crowned the nearest of the foothills.
Passing the church, she found the double doors in the porch open, and
peeped in. It was a cozy little place, cleaner and less garish than
such edifices are usually on the Continent. The lamp burning before
the sanctuary showed that it was devoted to Roman Catholic worship.
The red gleam of the tiny sentinel conveyed a curiously vivid
impression of faith and spirituality. Though Helen was a Protestant,
she was conscious of a benign emotion arising from the presence of
this simple token of belief.

"I must ascertain the hours of service," she thought. "It will be
delightful to join the Swiss peasants in prayer. One might come near
the Creator in this rustic tabernacle."

She did not cross the threshold of the inner door. At present her mind
was fixed on brisk movement in the marvelous air. She wanted to absorb
the sunshine, to dispel once and for all the unpleasing picture of
life in the high Alps presented by the stupid crowd she had met in the
hotel overnight. Of course, she was somewhat unjust there; but women
are predisposed to trust first impressions, and Helen was no exception
to her sex.

Beyond the church the path was not so definite. Oddly enough, it
seemed to go along the flat top of a low wall down to a tiny mountain
stream. Steps were cut in the opposite hillside, but they were little
used, and higher up, among some dwarf pines and azaleas, a broader way
wound back toward the few scattered chalets that nestled under the
chateau.

As the guidebook spoke of a carriage road to Lake Cavloccio, and a
bridle path thence to within a mile of the Forno glacier, she came to
the conclusion that she was taking a short cut. At any rate, on the
summit of the next little hill she would be able to see her way quite
distinctly, so she jumped across the brook and climbed through the
undergrowth. Before she had gone twenty yards she stopped. She was
almost certain that someone was sobbing bitterly up there among the
trees. It had an uncanny sound, this plaint of grief in such a quiet,
sunlit spot. Still, sorrow w