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face had been a reflection she so well recognized.

Just so had Joseph her husband looked before he started on one of his perilous journeys, even while his eyes glistened with the sorrow of bidding her farewell. She felt hopeless; to her the life of an Alpine guide meant only certain death. It seemed to her that André must share his father's fate. It was so ordained, and who was she to set herself up against it?

André had not followed her. He was so glad to have preserved his secret, that his heart grew light again; and when, after a severe wrestle with herself, his mother came back, she found him as bright and gay as he had been when he reached the chalet by the lake.

III.

It was August when André came down from the mountain to see his mother. It is now the middle of September, about a month before the cattle need come from the hills. But the trees look more like November; incessant rain has swept away the leaves, and the rich red beauty of the creepers is marred by gaps in the foliage. The brown-petalled, soddenlooking sunflowers and dahlia blossoms, that a while ago made a glory of the carpenter's little garden, are now only suggestive of damp and decay, sticking together in blurred masses.

The weather has been strangely cold too, and to-day a heavy mist has hung over the lake, blotting out the mountains. All day long masses of vapor have been rolling over the steep, pine-covered ridge behind the village in huge clouds like the smoke of a battle-field, sweeping more than half-way down the hillside with soft, blurred edges, seeming as if they had let loose the torrents of rain which have been falling for hours.

Hans Christen is a schoolmaster as well as a carpenter. All day long he hammers and saws and works into shape the wood that lies heaped behind his house, and in the evening he goes through much the same process mentally with the dull scholars who come to his class. He considers himself a scholar, and he is weatherwise, but this weather puzzles him, and he is in a mood to prove his wisdom on some one or other. As he turns from his study of the clouds, he sees Andre's mother walking quickly past his garden; her eyes are half closed, and her head is bent forward; certainly the cold is bitter enough to account for the pace

at which she walks; but Hans is always ready to teach, and just now, as has been said, he feels specially commissioned in this direction.

"Elisa," he calls out; "Elisa Engemann."

"Yes, neighbor;" but though she stops she does not turn round or hold her head erect, it is bent forward ready for the next step.

"What ails you?" he says severely. "Since André went back you have been keeping yourself away from us all. You have scarcely said a dozen words to me. Let me tell you, neighbor, that such conduct is unneighborly and unchristian, unless, indeed, you are hiding something from us; but even then," he brings down his dirty hand heavily on the low wall that borders his garden, "why even then, widow Engemann, you ought to have come to me. I am consulted by every one, and also I am André's godfather. He is confirmed, I grant you, but I have the right to know his errors and misdeeds." The woman turned and faced him; she was smiling.

"Misdeeds will never be reckoned up against my André, neighbor; if I do not talk as much as I did, put it down to my fault, not to André's."

Christen shook his head.

"You do not deceive me, Elisa. Trouble is written in your face, and you keep aloof because you are trying to keep it to yourself. Ah, well, you may turn your face away. I know, what I know you will have to come to me for counsel by-andby."

She shook her head, and then as he remained silent, she passed on towards her cottage.

"The woman looks all eyes," said Christen crossly; "she's - but then its natural, all women are fools, mothers more than any. The boy has got into trouble, and she's trying to hush it up. Ah, well," he grunted, "she'll have to come to me in the end."

This remark appeased him, and he fell on his pipe with added vigor, but he soon found his way indoors, for every moment the air grew colder.

Elisa had thought herself of so little consequence, it had not occurred to her that her silent brooding might give her neighbors offence. Somehow she had grown to feel that if she betrayed it in words, her fear would become a reality, and so she had avoided the chance of revealing it, and had lived alone with the spectre face to face.

There were times when she almost | rades were now only marked out from the conquered it. She told herself that she rest by their superior height. Lower had always known what she dreaded must Alps which till now had blended in the come to pass. She had been sure from distant view, showed out separately, the the first that a child born like the edel- silvery coating defining and giving granweiss at the glacier's edge, cradled so to deur to their peaks. Elisa's eyes were speak in snow, must feel drawn to the fixed on the huge white pyramid across mountain-top as to his native atmosphere; the lake. Where was André? She went and then she asked herself why she did out and hastened to the point, for the not yield? Was there not in all this view in front of her chalet was somewhat an undercurrent that meant something obscured by trees. Presently she heard stronger than her mere will? Was she voices in the garden above. Monsieur not selfish in wishing to keep her boy Weissembourg was talking to Hans Chrisfrom the dangerous life he craved? After that she had recoiled from this whisper as from the voice of a tempter. No, it must be her solemn duty to shelter André from the terrible fate which had made him fatherless.

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That was a night never to be forgotten in the villages beside the lake, or even in Dort, the busy little town on the bluegreen river.

Old people shivered in their sleep and dreamed they had ague; while those who possessed them, old and young too, drew their thistle-down stuffed coverlets up to, their chins, and shrank deep down in bed, wondering why they slept so poorly. Towards morning, however, there was a general stir in the village; every one had roused at daybreak. Spite of the cold, half-clad men and women peeped out at doors and windows, so awful a sound had boomed across the lake.

ten.

"I do not say it was an avalanche," he said; "but it was a fall of some kind above Schonegg. I am going into town to learn what has happened."

Christen said something, but she could not make out the words.

"Yes," Monsieur Weissembourg answered, "that is what I fear. It seemed to me that the sound came from below the chalets; and in that case"-he hesi tated - "well, she need not be told till we are certain," he said.

"No, no," Christen spoke in a hushed, awed voice.

Elisa knew that they were speaking of her, but she also knew that they could not see her. A fear came lest they might prevent the purpose she had so quickly formed. She crept stealthily along the strip of ground between the outhouses and the lake, and then her face blanched, and with tottering knees she leaned against the broken timbers and tried to steady her thoughts.

Long ago she had learned to ask God for help - but now, when she tried to pray, her words froze on her lips.

It had come, then the fate she so dreaded for her boy; he lay buried under the snow.

She had gone through all this already in thought. Oh, yes, she knew what she had to do. It never occurred to her to "What was it?" Elisa asked herself as bemoan herself or to break down in tears. she looked out.

The atmosphere was clearer. The lake looked peaceful and gray, but the mountains and even the lowest ridge of the hills were white with snow. As she watched, the huge pyramid opposite, on which André kept his sheep, began to gleam with silver brightness as the sun sent up light from behind the cloud-veil in which he was rising.

She sped back to her house, and wrapped herself more warmly; then she put some milk and some brandy into a basket with a warm wrap over them, and then she left the chalet and walked on swiftly in the opposite direction from the point. Half a mile of rapid walking brought her to just such another little creek as that at the foot of the grass-grown steps; but here, instead of the broken sheds, there A heavy snowfall in September! For was a bathing-hut with two boats moored a moment, Elisa could not believe her beside it. The sun had almost reached eyes; but there was no use in doubting the mountain-tops, and the gray of the them. The Jungfrau and her giant com-lake was mottled with exquisite reflec

tions of the rosy sky. Elisa bent over | had happened, and she hurried towards one of the boats and tried to launch it. him. At first this was beyond her strength; but at last it yielded, and she was afloat. The oars were large and very heavy, and her hands were numbed with the intense" cold. She was some time in crossing the lake.

She secured her boat at the landingplace, and then, panting, yet without any feeling of fatigue, she went up to a group of women who stood talking eagerly to an old man in front of the hotel. There was such a babel of sound that she could not distinguish words. She pushed in between the women and grasped the old man's arm.

"Tell me," she cried abruptly, "what has happened? Did the avalanche fall on this side the mountain?"

The man opened his mouth and stared in wonder. He was one of the head farmers of the district; his dignity was affronted. By what right did this wildeyed stranger snatch at his arm and question him so fiercely? He had never seen her. But Elisa could not wait while he arranged his ideas. She placed herself in front of a woman who stood near.

"What has happened on the mountain?" she asked; "is it known?"

The woman was an eager talker; her broad face and black, slit-like eyes kindled.

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He left off cracking his whip: her eyes told him that she was in some sore need. "At your service, neighbor," he said. What do you want of me?" "You have been up there to the chalets?"

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"No, but I have heard." He was full of sympathy, for in his youth he, too, had herded cattle on the mountain-side. "The Unterstalden chalets are safe, my good woman; the lads only stay to collect the strayed sheep.

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He broke off; the agonized look in her eyes held him fascinated. It was plain that his words had no comfort for her. He was afraid to end his tidings.

"Go on," she said in a voice that sounded far off. "Is it true that the Oberstalden chalets are under the snow?"

The man bent his head: he was awed by her solemn tone. Then, remembering what he had heard, he took courage.

"But it was best so, mother. More than two of the Oberstalden lads had come down to a wedding at Wimmis and they were to stay all night. There were but two of the young ones left above, whereas the chalets of Unterstalden were full."

"And those two are left under the snow at Oberstalden."

His

Again her voice made him start. 'Yes, yes, it is known. There has blood seemed to chill as he heard it. been a snowfall - some say a slip of part "Nay," he said, "I heard but now that of the rock on this side, and the chalets a couple of diggers are presently going up yonder at Oberstalden are buried, and up the mountain with shovels and iceno one knows where the sheep will have axes; but what can they do if indeed the strayed to. Do you not hear the cow-rock has fallen? Monsieur le Comte has bells? They are already bringing down settled how it is to be." the cows by hundreds. What a winter we shall have!"

All this fell on Elisa's strained hearing as rain falls on a window-pane - she heard it, but it did not penetrate to her feelings.

She had learned the truth of what she dreaded. There was only one question still to be asked; but as she looked at her eager-tongued neighbor she felt that she would not get an answer from her.

Farther on, nearer the château, which stands beyond the houses, she saw the diligence; it was ready to start, but its rough-looking driver had not yet mounted to his seat. He was stamping his boots heavily as if his feet were cold, cracking his whip now and then.

Elisa knew that this man travelled each

day some way up the mountain. He must surely know the truth about what

"Two diggers, did you say? She looked so white that the man thought she must be ill.

"

"It is all they can spare," he said; every soul is wanted to seek for the missing sheep. They will perish, else, in the snow Monsieur le Comte has said so."

"Under the snow," she said mechani cally, and then turned and walked quickly in the direction of the château.

"Monsieur le Comte," she was saying half aloud to herself, in a strange, imperious voice, "Monsieur le Comte! What is it to him? He has not a child perishing in the snow."

She soon reached the old château, with its quaint, red-roofed tower; and while she waited for an answer to her clamorous ringing she had quieted her temper.

In a few minutes a man appeared. He

said in answer to her eager request, that Monsieur le Comte could not see any one. Some important business was about to take him from home, and he could not spare a moment before he went. "Will he come out this way?” "Yes."

She stood waiting: she felt as if she were wasting precious moments, and yet, how little she could do alone! Presently she heard wheels grating on the slaty drive, and then Monsieur von Erlach came out ready to step into the carriage which had drawn up in front of the door. He looked round and saw Elisa.

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Sir, are you going up the mountain?" "As soon as I can. I must first drive to Dort to get some help; there are soldiers there who can be spared, our people are so busy with the herds."

Elisa flushed and her eyes brightened. "But, sir, the boys are perishing in the snow."

She spoke roughly, almost fiercely the count thought.

"Yes, yes," he said. "Two men have gone up already.”

"Two men! Listen, sir. One of those boys is my boy, André; the other is an orphan. He has no mother, only you, sir, to care for him. Will you lose so many precious hours before you go to see what can be done on the mountain? I am going there; but, sir, I am weak and ignorant, the men above will not listen to me. Only such as you, sir, can order what is best to do in such a strait. You will go there; you will come with me now."

She spoke with a fire and energy that would have greatly surprised Christen the carpenter, and her eyes told her that she had kindled the zeal of her listener.

He was indeed greatly moved. "I will go with you," he said.

He went into the house and came back with a note, which he gave to his greyheaded servant.

"You will bid Louis saddle a horse and carry this as fast as he can to Dort. Now, my good friend," he said to Elisa, "I will drive you as far as we can go and we will climb together to the chalets."

IV.

THE two men had been digging for an hour, yet it seemed as if they made no impression on the enormous mass of snow at which they labored.

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When it became known that the count had gone up to the chalets some lads who had come down with the cattle followed him, and there were soon almost a dozen at work with picks and shovels, but the snow was so hard and deep that it seemed as if they might go on for hours. They had pushed André's mother aside when she asked to help them, but Monsieur von Erlach took a spade and worked with a will.

Now and then Elisa walked up and down below them, but the chalets had stood on the exposed side of the mountain, and the snowfall, after overwhelming them, had drifted down on one side, so that only a small space of path was left thinly covered. Lately she had stood still muffled in her shawl watching the diggers.

She

All at once she moved to the left where the snow lay thickly heaped, and when | Monsieur von Erlach looked up she had passed out of sight. He thought she had gone down to the lower chalets, to which he had already sent a lad to make all ready to receive those they hoped to rescue. The sun was gaining power over the snow on this side, and as Elisa plunged resolutely into it she sank to her knees. tried to go on but this seemed impossible. She felt rooted in the snow. last, with much effort and long pauses between each step, she struggled forward. As she advanced her footing became firmer, for she had circled round the vast mound, and on this side the snow had not melted. She had quite lost sight of the diggers, and crouching down she listened. Then a wailing cry sounded over the snow,

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"André, André, I am here."

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The terrible cry startled the diggers; they looked round them in alarm; the count with some help climbed up to the top of the mound.

He saw André's mother lying crouched on the top of the snow.

"What is it?" he cried, too much astonished to realize the courage and daring which had enabled her to reach the spot where she lay.

"They are here, monsieur," she said, her eyes glistening with hope. "The men waste their labor on that side; the chalet is here, and some one still lives there under the snow."

Monsieur von Erlach climbed down till he reached her.

"You must not stay here," he said. "You will perish in the snow, and you can do no good."

She gave him a look which puzzled

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him. She was wondering how it could be possible that André yet lived, if mere contact with the snow was so harmful. "Listen!" she held up her hand and bent her head.

Truly it seemed as if there was a faroff, muffled cry. Monsieur von Erlach still held the shovel with which he had been working, and with a loud shout he tried to thrust it down in the direction of the sound.

Presently he raised his head with a look of relief.

"The snow is hard below," he said, "but I believe it is only snow, the rock has not fallen."

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No, sir;" Elisa rose up and pointed overhead; " you can see that from here. Except for the snow the mountain has not changed."

And as he followed the direction of her finger he saw that she was right. The place where they stood was so altered in aspect that no one would have recognized it. The winding path which had curved outside the flank of the mountain had disappeared with the chalets of the herdsmen; a new projecting spur in the shape of an enormous snow-hill had taken their place, barring all upward progress, and on one side it spread downward, but above, except that it was white with snow, the mountain was unchanged.

"You must come with me," the count said imperatively. "I will bring the men here, but you must come away-come, do you hear me?"

She was stooping down. Now she cried out again, in a wail that sounded strangely sad,

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André-André, I am here."

While she bent down listening for an answer, she was firmly drawn away, carried off her feet, and set down again, where the snow lay only a few inches deep on the ground.

Then as the count told his news to the men, there rose a hearty shout; they were soon digging rapidly on the spot where Elisa had crouched.

She stood waiting; she had done what she could, but it seemed terrible that while her darling lay, perhaps dying, she could do nothing. Since that day, when she had fallen insensible at the foot of the snow mountain, where her husband had perished, she had rarely shed tears; something had congealed them. Now she could only stand praying that her boy might yet live-her loving André. No one but she knew how good and tender, bow self-denying he had been.

Clouds had risen, and now they reached the sun and obscured his light, and an icy wind swept round Elisa, but she did not even shiver; she could only think of her boy.

The digging went on silently; it seemed to her the men were digging a grave. How far off it was since her boy had come down to her, and she had seen his hopes, and how he strove against them for fear of grieving her!

Oh, how good and loving her André had ever been to her! He had never wilfully given her an hour of sorrow, and she

what had she done? Because she had yielded to her fear, she had given him a constant secret grief, she had checked the flow of his confidence in her, and she had taught him that his mother exacted the sacrifice of his dearest wish, while in words she lived only for his happiness.

And now perhaps the end had come. She could not be sure that the cry she had heard was André's, and presently the men might bring out from under the snow

The thought shaped itself

with terrible reality; the hard pain at her heart tightened, and then a burst of tears came. How blind she had been, she was able to see it now. What was the use of faith and trust, if she did not think his Father in heaven could better care for André than she could. She stood silent after this; she gave up even her longing to help; she tried to accept that she must yield up her own will, and when the count called out to her to move about or go down to the chalets, or she would get frozen by the wind, she began to hurry backwards and forwards along the narrow ledge on which she stood.

Time was slipping by quickly, yet it seemed to her slow-footed. The snow had made all below look monotonous, but as Elisa turned she saw on the white expanse dark objects in movement. Soon she made them out to be a body of men climbing up the road by which she had come.

"Monsieur, Monsieur le Comte," she cried loudly, "there is help coming to you."

It was, in truth, the party of soldiers for whose help Monsieur von Erlach had sent to ask, and behind them came Hans Christen. He had evidently been schooling them as to the manner in which they were to proceed; but when Monsieur von Erlach came forward, Hans stopped short.

"I am glad to see you, Christen," the count said. "You must take care of this

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