of strength; like an angry
old dog, he stared from side to side. "My bone!" he seemed to say:
"let's see who's going to touch it!"

The last house vanished, glowing in the early sunshine, and the carriage
with its trail of dust became entombed once more in the gloom of tall
trees, along a road that cleft a wilderness of mossgrown rocks, and dewy
stems, through which the sun had not yet driven paths.

Dominique came round to them, bearing appearance of one who has seen
better days, and a pot of coffee brewed on a spirit lamp. Breakfast--he
said--was served!

The ears of the horses were twitching with fatigue. Mr. Treffry said
sadly: "If I can see this through, you can. Get on, my beauties!"

As soon as the sun struck through the trees, Mr. Treffry's strength ebbed
again. He seemed to suffer greatly; but did not complain. They had
reached the pass at last, and the unchecked sunlight was streaming down
with a blinding glare.

"Jump up!" Mr. Treffry cried out. "We'll make a finish of it!" and he
gave the reins a jerk. The horses flung up their heads, and the bleak
pass with its circling crown of jagged peaks soon slipped away.

Between the houses on the very top, they passed at a slow trot; and soon
began slanting down the other side. Mr. Treffry brought them to a halt
where a mule track joined the road.

"That's all I can do for you; you'd better leave me here," he said. "Keep
this track down to the river--go south--you'll be in Italy in a couple of
hours. Get rail at Feltre. Money? Yes? Well!" He held out his hand;
Harz gripped it.

"Give her up, eh?"

Harz shook his head.

"No? Then it's 'pull devil, pull baker,' between us. Good-bye, and good
luck to you!" And mustering his strength for a last attempt at dignity,
Mr. Treffry gathered up the reins.

Harz watched his figure huddled again beneath the hood. The carriage
moved slowly away.

XVIII

At Villa Rubein people went about, avoiding each other as if detected in
conspiracy. Miss Naylor, who for an inscrutable reason had put on her
best frock, a purple, relieved at the chest with bird's-eye blue,
conveyed an impression of trying to count a chicken which ran about too
fast. When Greta asked what she had lost she was heard to mutter:
"Mr.--Needlecase."

Christian, with big circles round her eyes, sat silent at her little
table. She had had no sleep. Herr Paul coming into the room about noon
gave her a furtive look and went ou