She pointed suddenly at the portrait. ‘Parbleu,’ came indignantly from the lady. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. She will tell you all the story while I am gone. " "He'll have hard work to do it by that time, father," remonstrated Thames; "you'd better let me help him.
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