that the Swiss loves, is that wild, free, upper
region where there are neither roads nor hotels,
tourists nor guides; but only dark pine forests
and open plateaus, the haunt of the marmot, the
ptarmigan, and the chamois."

"I never saw but one chamois," said Miss
Hatherton, " and that was a poor fat melancholy
creature in a cage."

"Of course you never visited Switzerland in
winter?"

"Oh dear no."

"And yet that is the most glorious time of
all, when the plateaus are all sheeted with snow,
and the great peaks rise above them like marble
obelisks, and even the pines stand out white
against the deep blue sky. It is like a world
awaiting the creation of colour."

"What an enthusiast you are," laughed Miss
Hatherton.

"I love my country," replied Saxon.

"You need not tell me that. But what can
you do in winter, snowed up in those wild
valleys?"

"We are not snowed up. We have sledges;
and the deeper the snow lies on the roads and
passes, the better our sledges fly along. You
should see the Rheinthal between Chur and
Thusis, on a bright day in the depth of winter,
when the sledges flash along in the sunshine,
and the air is full of the music of the bells."

"How delightful!"

"Indeed it is delightful. Then we also skate,
practise with the rifle, carve wooden toys, and
attend to the winter work of our farms; and
sometimes, if there is a wolf or a wild boar about
the neighbourhood, we have a great hunt by
torchlight. Winter is the time for Switzerland!
Ask any Swiss who is not a townsman, and he
will tell you the same story."

"I suppose you mean to go back there some
day?" said Miss Hatherton.

"Go back!" echoed Saxon. "Why, of
course I do. It is my own country— my
home!"

"Then if I were to come some Christmas to
Chur, would you be very kind to me, and show
me some of these winter sports?"

"That I would!" exclaimed Saxon. " And
I would buy the loveliest Canadian sledge for
you that money could purchase; and you should
see a boar hunt by torchlight; and a Schützen
Fest; and a wrestling-match; and I would find
you a young marmot for a pet. Above all, you
would know my dearest father, and if you loved
Switzerland for no other reason, you would love
it for his sake."

"Your father?" said Miss Hatherton. "I
had no idea your father was living."

"He is really my uncle," replied the young
man; "but my father by adoption. He is a
Lutheran pastor— a miracle of erudition; but as
simple as a child, and as pious as an apostle."

"I hear you are terribly learned yourself,
Mr. Trefalden," said Miss Hatherton, rising
abruptly. " But what is this they are going
to do— a waltz? Do you waltz?"

"Try me," replied Saxon, merrily. " It is
our national dance— the only dance I ever
knew, till I learned these hideous quadrilles a
few weeks ago."

In another moment he had encircled the
heiress's waist with his arm, and was flying
round the hall with her in those smooth, swift
circles which no dancers, however good, can
execute like the Germans and Swiss. Miss
Hatherton was delighted; for she valued a good
partner above all things, and Saxon was the best
waltzer in the room.

She would willingly have danced and talked
with him all the rest of the evening; for Miss
Hatherton liked to be amused, and cared very
little for the remarks of lookers-on; while
Saxon, pleased with her blunt cordiality, would
with equal readiness have gone on waltzing, and
praising a Swiss life, till it was time to hand
her to her carriage. But this was not to be.
Lady Castletowers, who, in her quality of
hostess, always knew what her guests were
doing, was by no means disposed to permit any
such proceeding; so she despatched her son to
dance with the heiress, and, having sent for
Saxon, herself handed him over to Miss Colonna
for the next quadrille.

By this time the arrivals were over, and the
departures had begun; and after supper was
served, the rooms cleared rapidly. By two
o'clock, all were gone, save those guests who
remained for the night, and of these there were
about a dozen.

Then Viscount and Lady Esher, who had
brought valet and maid in their suite, retired to
the stately apartments prepared for their
reception; and the young men all went down to
the Earl's smoking-room; and the Colonnas,
instead of going to bed like the rest of the
guests, repaired to the little study in the turret.
They had much to talk over. Mr. Thompson,
the liberal member, had brought them information
of Garibaldi, and a packet of letters from
friends in London and Turin; Miss Hatherton
and Mr. Walkingshaw had promised contributions
to the fund; and Mrs. Bunyon had
undertaken to distribute some addresses, and fill
up a card, among her friends. With the Eshers
and Lord Boxhill there was, of course, nothing
to be done. Like Lady Castletowers, they
looked upon liberty as a vulgar institution, and
upon patriots in general as doubtful characters.

The letters read, and such entries made as
were necessary, the father and daughter rose to
say good night.

"You have done nothing yet, Olimpia," said
the Italian. "Here is the fourth day already
gone."

"I know it."

"I have talked with him once or twice about
our country's cause, and he listens willingly;
but I have purposely abstained from doing more.
The work is yours— why do you delay it?"

"I will not delay it longer," replied Olimpia,
impatiently; "I will begin it to-day."

"He is so rich," said Colonna, "and Italy so
poor; and every letter we receive is a prayer
for help!"