any, his new light running between the pinnacles of the
clouds as the commands of a conqueror might come trumpeted down the
defiles of mountains, when I fearlessly forced my boots on to my feet
and left their doors.

The morning outside came living and sharp after the gale--almost
chilly. Under a scattered but clearing sky I first limped, then, as
my blood warmed, strode down the path that led between the trees of
the farther vale and was soon following a stream that leaped from one
fall to another till it should lead me to the main road, to Belfort,
to the Jura, to the Swiss whom I had never known, and at last to
Italy.

But before I call up the recollection of that hidden valley, I must
describe with a map the curious features of the road that lay before
me into Switzerland. I was standing on the summit of that knot of
hills which rise up from every side to form the Ballon d'Alsace, and
make an abrupt ending to the Vosges. Before me, southward and
eastward, was a great plain with the fortress of Belfort in the midst
of it. This plain is called by soldiers 'the Gap of Belfort', and is
the only break in the hill frontier that covers France all the way
from the Mediterranean to Flanders. On the farther side of this plain
ran the Jura mountains, which are like a northern wall to Switzerland,
and just before you reach them is the Frontier. The Jura are fold on
fold of high limestone ridges, thousands of feet high, all parallel,
with deep valleys, thousands of feet deep, between them; and beyond
their last abrupt escarpment is the wide plain of the river Aar.

Now the straight line to Rome ran from where I stood, right across
that plain of Belfort, right across the ridges of the Jura, and cut
the plain of the Aar a few miles to the west of a town called
Solothurn or Soleure, which stands upon that river.

It was impossible to follow that line exactly, but one could average
it closely enough by following the high road down the mountain through
Belfort to a Swiss town called Porrentruy or Portrut--so far one was a
little to the west of the direct line.

From Portrut, by picking one's way through forests, up steep banks,
over open downs, along mule paths, and so forth, one could cross the
first ridge called the 'Terrible Hill', and so reach the profound
gorge of the river Doubs, and a town called St Ursanne. From St
Ursanne, by following a mountain road and then climbing some rocks and
tracking through a wood, one could