If the
old man observed a tendency to roam in the young man's eye, he did not
betray the fact--at least not so that any one could notice. Truxton
departed, but returned immediately after luncheon, vaguely inclined to
decide between two desirable rings. After a protracted period of
indecision, in which Olga remained stubbornly out of sight, he announced
that he could not make up his mind, and would return later for another
inspection.

At his room in the hotel, he found a note addressed to himself. It did
not have much to say, but it meant a great deal. There was no signature,
and the handwriting was that of a woman.

"_Please do not come again_." That was all.

He laughed with a fine tone of defiance and--went back to the shop at
five o'clock, just to prove that nothing so timid as a note could stop
him. This, however, was after he had taken a long walk down Castle
Avenue, with a supplementary stroll of little incident outside the grim,
high walls that enclosed the grounds. If any one had told him that he
was secretly hoping to find a crevasse through which he could invade
paradise, I make no doubt he would have resented the imputation soundly.
On the occasion of this last visit to the shop, he did not stay long,
but went away somewhat dazed to find himself the possessor of a ring he
did not want and out of pocket just thirty dollars, American. Having
come to the conclusion that knight-errantry of that kind was not only
profligate but distinctly irritating to his sense of humour, he looked
up Mr. Hobbs and arranged for a day's ride in the mountains.

"You'll oblige me, Mr. Hobbs, by removing that band from your cap. I
know you're an interpreter. It's an insult to my intelligence to have it
flaunted in my face all day long. I'll admit you're what you say you
are, so take it off before we start out to-morrow."

And so, minus the beguiling insignia of office, Mr. Hobbs led his
hypercritical patron into the mountain roads early the next morning,
both well mounted and provided with a luncheon large enough to restore
the amiability that was sure to flag at mid-day unless sustained by
unaesthetic sandwiches and beer.

The day was bright and clear, warm in the valley where the city lay,
cooler to cold as one mounted the winding roads that led past the lofty
Monastery of St. Valentine, sombre sentinel among the clouds.

A part of Edelweiss is built along the side of the mountain, its narrow
streets winding upward and pa