n-brown moss. Then on beneath a hill
catching faraway glimpses of a darkened and mysterious sky through the
forest of stems. Then past larger and taller pine trees which, standing
further apart, let in more sky, and left space for the brown earth to
be flecked with sunshine. And here, in the most peaceful of all country
regions, they met a handsome-looking peasant in gay Tyrolean attire much
adorned with silver chains since it was Ascension day and a festival. He
was leading by the hand his little daughter.

"That is a peaceful lot," said Raeburn glancing at them. "Would we like
to change places with them, little son Eric?"

She laughed and shook her head and fell, nevertheless, into a reverie,
wondering what such a character as her father's would have been under
less hard circumstances, trying to picture a possible life in that
sheltered green valley. All was so perfectly peaceful; the very river
grew broader and calmer, cattle grazed by the road side, women walked
slowly along with their knitting in their hands, the fruit trees were
white with blossom. As they reached the pretty village of Berchtesgaden
the sun was setting, the square comfortable-looking white houses with
their broad, dark eaves and balconies were bathed in a rosy glow, the
two spires of the little church stood out darkly against the evening
sky; in the platz women were filling their pitchers at a stone fountain
made in the shape of a rampant lion while others were kneeling before
the calvary at the entrance to the village, praying with the reverence
which is one of the characteristics of the Tyrolese. Towering above all
in the background rose the two Wartzmann peaks, standing there white and
majestic like guardian angels.

"What foolish being called seven the perfect number?" said Raeburn,
turning back from a last look at the twin mountains which were now
assuming their cloud caps. "Two is the perfect number, is it not, little
one?"

She smiled and slipped her hand into his.

Then came a wild, desolate part of the road, which passed through a
valley shut in on all sides by mountains, some of them snowy, all wild
and precipitous, and looking strangely desolate in the falling light.
Erica could not help contrasting it with the view from the amphitheatre
at Fiesole, of that wider amphitheatre of green hills all glowing with
light and love. But presently came more peaceful glimpses; pretty little
Schellenburg with its serpentine river winding again