Carinthia halted, leaning on her staff: "But I had the same wish. They told us at the inn of an Englishman who left last night to sleep on the mountain, and would go alone; and did I not say, brother, that must be true love of the mountains?"
"These freaks get us a bad name on the Continent," her brother replied.
He had no sympathy with nonsense, and naturally not with a youth who smelt of being a dreamy romancer and had caused the name of Englishman to be shouted in his ear in derision. And the fellow might delay his arrival at the Baths and sight of the lady of his love for hours!
They managed to get him hobbling and slipping to the first green tuft of the base, where long black tongues of slate-rubble pouring into the gra.s.s, like sh.o.r.e-waves that have spent their burden, seem about to draw back to bring the mountain down. Thence to the level pasture was but a few skips performed sliding.
"Well, now," said Chillon, "you can stand?"
"Pretty well, I think." He tried his foot on the ground, and then stretched his length, saying that it only wanted rest. Anton pressed a hand at his ankle and made him wince, but the bones were sound, leg and hip not worse than badly bruised. He was advised by Anton to plant his foot in the first running water he came to, and he was considerate enough to say to Chillon:
"Now you can leave me; and let me thank you. Half an hour will set me right. My name is Woodseer, if ever we meet again."
Chillon nodded a hurried good-bye, without a thought of giving his name in return. But Carinthia had thrown herself on the gra.s.s. Her brother asked her in dismay if she was tired. She murmured to him: "I should like to hear more English."
"My dear girl, you"ll have enough of it in two or three weeks."
"Should we leave a good deed half done, Chillon?"
"He shall have our guide."
"He may not be rich."
"I"ll pay Anton to stick to him."
"Brother, he has an objection to guides."
Chillon cast hungry eyes on his watch: "Five minutes, then." He addressed Mr. Woodseer, who was reposing, indifferent to time, hard-by: "Your objection to guides might have taught you a sharp lesson. It "s like declining to have a master in studying a science--trusting to instinct for your knowledge of a bargain. One might as well refuse an oar to row in a boat."
"I "d rather risk it," the young man replied. "These guides kick the soul out of scenery. I came for that and not for them."
"You might easily have been a disagreeable part of the scene."
"Why not here as well as elsewhere?"
"You don"t care for your life?"
"I try not to care for it a fraction more than Destiny does."
"Fatalism. I suppose you care for something?"
"Besides I"ve a slack purse, and shun guides and inns when I can. I care for open air, colour, flowers, weeds, birds, insects, mountains. There"s a world behind the mask. I call this life; and the town"s a boiling pot, intolerably stuffy. My one ambition is to be out of it. I thank heaven I have not another on earth. Yes, I care for my note-book, because it"s of no use to a human being except me. I slept beside a spring last night, and I never shall like a bedroom so well. I think I have discovered the great secret: I may be wrong, of course." And if so, he had his philosophy, the admission was meant to say.
Carinthia expected the revelation of a notable secret, but none came; or if it did it eluded her grasp:--he was praising contemplation, he was praising tobacco. He talked of the charm of poverty upon a settled income of a very small sum of money, the fruit of a compact he would execute with the town to agree to his perpetual exclusion from it, and to retain his ident.i.ty, and not be the composite which every townsman was. He talked of Buddha. He said: "Here the brook"s the brook, the mountain"s the mountain: they are as they always were."
"You"d have men be the same," Chillon remarked as to a nursling prattler, and he rejoined: "They"ve lost more than they"ve gained; though, he admitted, "there has been some gain, in a certain way."
Fortunately for them, young men have not the habit of reflecting upon the indigestion of ideas they receive from members of their community, sometimes upon exchange. They compare a view of life with their own view, to condemn it summarily; and he was a curious object to Chillon as the perfect opposite of himself.
"I would advise you," Chillon said, "to get a pair of Styrian boots, if you intend to stay in the Alps. Those boots of yours are London make."
"They "re my father"s make," said Mr. Woodseer.
Chillon drew out his watch. "Come, Carinthia, we must be off." He proposed his guide, and, as Anton was rejected, he pointed the route over the head of the valley, stated the distance to an inn that way, saluted and strode.
Mr. Woodseer, partly rising, presumed, in raising his hat and thanking Carinthia, to touch her fingers. She smiled on him, frankly extending her open hand, and pointing the route again, counselling him to rest at the inn, even saying: "You have not yet your strength to come on with us?"
He thought he would stay some time longer: he had a disposition to smoke.
She tripped away to her brother and was watched through the whiffs of a pipe far up the valley, guiltless of any consciousness of producing an impression. But her mind was with the stranger sufficiently to cause her to say to Chillon, at the close of a dispute between him and Anton on the interesting subject of the growth of the horns of chamois: "Have we been quite kind to that gentleman?"
Chillon looked over his shoulder. "He"s there still; he"s fond of solitude. And, Carin, my dear, don"t give your hand when you are meeting or parting with people it"s not done."
His uninstructed sister said: "Did you not like him?"
She was answered with an "Oh," the tone of which balanced lightly on the neutral line. "Some of the ideas he has are Lord Fleetwood"s, I hear, and one can understand them in a man of enormous wealth, who doesn"t know what to do with himself and is dead-sick of flattery; though it seems odd for an English n.o.bleman to be raving about Nature. Perhaps it"s because none else of them does."
"Lord Fleetwood loves our mountains, Chillon?"
"But a fellow who probably has to make his way in the world!--and he despises ambition!"... Chillon dropped him. He was antipathetic to eccentrics, and his soldierly and social training opposed the profession of heterodox ideas: to have listened seriously to them coming from the mouth of an unambitious bootmaker"s son involved him in the absurdity.
He considered that there was no harm in the lad, rather a commendable sort of courage and some notion of manners; allowing for his ignorance of the convenable in putting out his hand to take a young lady"s, with the plea of thanking her. He hoped she would be more on her guard.
Carinthia was sure she had the name of the n.o.bleman wishing to bestow his t.i.tle upon the beautiful Henrietta. Lord Fleetwood! That slender thread given her of the character of her brother"s rival who loved the mountains was woven in her mind with her pa.s.sing experience of the youth they had left behind them, until the two became one, a highly transfigured one, and the mountain scenery made him very threatening to her brother. A silky haired youth, brown-eyed, unconquerable in adversity, immensely rich, fond of solitude, curled, decorated, bejewelled by all the elves and gnomes of inmost solitude, must have marvellous attractions, she feared. She thought of him so much, that her humble spirit conceived the stricken soul of the woman as of necessity the pursuer; as shamelessly, though timidly, as she herself pursued in imagination the enchanted secret of the mountain-land. She hoped her brother would not supplicate, for it struck her that the lover who besieged the lady would forfeit her roaming and hunting fancy.
"I wonder what that gentleman is doing now," she said to Chillon.
He grimaced slightly, for her sake; he would have liked to inform her, for the sake of educating her in the customs of the world she was going to enter, that the word "gentleman" conveys in English a special signification.
Her expression of wonder whether they were to meet him again gave Chillon the opportunity of saying:
"It "s the unlikeliest thing possible--at all events in England."
"But I think we shall," said she.
"My dear, you meet people of your own cla.s.s; you don"t meet others."
"But we may meet anybody, Chillon!"
"In the street. I suppose you would not stop to speak to him in the street."
"It would be strange to see him in the street!" Carinthia said.
"Strange or not!"
.... Chillon thought he had said sufficient. She was under his protectorship, otherwise he would not have alluded to the observance of cla.s.s distinctions. He felt them personally in this case because of their seeming to stretch grotesquely by the pretentious heterodoxy of the young fellow, whom, nevertheless, thinking him over now that he was mentioned, he approved for his manliness in bluntly telling his origin and status.
A chalet supplied them with fresh milk, and the inn of a village on a perch with the midday meal. Their appet.i.tes were princely and swept over the little inn like a conflagration. Only after clearing it did they remember the rearward pedestrian, whose probable wants Chillon was urged by Carthinia to speak of to their host. They pushed on, clambering up, scurrying down, tramping gaily, till by degrees the chambers of Carinthia"s imagination closed their doors and would no longer intercommunicate. Her head refused to interest her, and left all activity to her legs and her eyes, and the latter became un.o.bservant, except of foot-tracks, animal-like. She felt that she was a fine machine, and nothing else: and she was rapidly approaching those ladies!
"You will tell them how I walked with you," she said.