What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. Her heart full of dread, she dragged on it. There was no railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees clamber among gigantic boulders. It may bring us together again. Kneebone smiled assent. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves.
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