eemed indeed an enviable lot in life.
Happy for him if the deception had stopped short with them! Unluckily,
however, it extended to himself, and he at last believed every fiction
that his own brain suggested.

In this wild delirium of the day-dream he rode along through the deep
glens and valleys of the Tyrol, along the banks of the rapid Inn,
through the glorious vale of Meran, and at last gained the great road
which, through Trent and Rovoredo, debouches on the Lago di Guarda. Here
a despatch from Vienna overtook them, with orders that a small party
should be sent off under some officer of intelligence to examine the
condition of the Stelvio Pass, the highest of all the Alpine roads of
Europe, and which, crossing from the South Tyrol, descends directly into
Italy by the Lake of Como.

Although it was still early, fresh snows were said to have fallen on
that elevated road, and it was an important question whether it were
longer practicable for the transit of artillery. Frank was delighted to
be selected for this duty,--a separate command, no matter bow small or
insignificant, had something adventurous and independent about it that
pleased him. There was a dash of peril, too, in the enterprise; for
already the Valteline and the Brianza were said to be overrun by bands
of patriot troops, raising contributions for the war, and compelling
others to take up arms.

Frank's instructions were, however, to examine and report upon the road,
and, avoiding all possible collision with the enemy, either to unite
with any Austrian brigade he could reach, or, if compelled, to retire
upon the Tyrol. Some of his comrades pitied him for being selected for
this lonely duty, others envied; but all regretted his departure,
and with many a warm wish for a speedy meeting, and many a pledge of
affection, they saw him depart on his enterprise.

In the small "Zug" of twenty men under his command, there was a young
Hungarian cadet, who, although of good family and birth, Frank remarked
never to have seen by any chance in society with the officers. Ravitzky
was a handsome, daring-looking fellow, with that expression of mingled
sadness and intrepidity in his face so peculiarly Hungarian. He was the
best horseman in the regiment, and a thorough soldier in his look and
carriage. It had often puzzled Frank why a youth with such advantages
had not been promoted. On the one or two occasions, however, on which he
asked the question, he had received