During our short walk few words were said.  As we reached the cottage a young man came out to meet us, with a flaxen-haired, blue-eyed child in his arms, and another clinging to his hand.  It was Vesta’s husband, and these were her children.  Following them into the cottage, I found myself at once in the presence of the dying woman.  The sight of a strange face did not disturb her.  With a look that seemed to comprehend the Christian bond of union between us she held out her hand.

“I have come with Erwald,” I said, “to see his sister.  I am sorry to find you so very ill.”

“Almost home,” she gasped.

“You do not feel that you are alone; there is One to walk with you?”

“Jesus, my Redeemer, my Comforter.”

Erwald was kneeling by the bed, his eyes were full of tears, and his hand trembled as he clasped the pale thin fingers.

“You will get well, Vesta, you will come to the old home once again, mother expects you, and father.”  The words were gone.  Sobs echoed through the cottage.

“Tell mother, not an hour but I have thought of her.  Tell her that I am glad she loves Jesus; and father, ask him for my sake to read the little Bible that I sent him.  I would so like to see them, Erwald; but it cannot be.  For this, as well as for my husband and children, I would live; but I go to Jesus.  Live so as to meet me there.”

There was no excitement, only a weary look stole over the face.  Leaving Erwald, I walked back to the inn.  Though far away from home, and surrounded by strange scenery and strange people, it was delightful to find the same faith here as in my own home, the same heaven inspired confidence in the Redeemer.

The next morning the sick woman was more comfortable.  Erwald did not say it, but I knew that he wanted to stay with her.

“Go with us to Le Prieure,” I said to him, “and then you shall return.  In the valley of Chamouni I feel sure we can procure a guide.”

As we left Maglan, our road, or rather path, led up a deep and fertile valley, watered by the Arve, rich in woods of fir, and bounded by mountains of various forms and of tremendous altitudes; their rugged peaks sometimes lost in the clouds; at others, their heads towered in majesty above them.  Bathed in the blue ether of the heavens they looked as if themselves ethereal, oftentimes exhibiting a play of colors, having the appearance of transparent matter, of the purest elements and richest hues, and when seen in the light of the setting sun they were only more glorious.  At the upper end of the valley we came upon the cataract of the Chede.  It is elegant in form.  The scenery that surrounds it is sylvan and sequestered.  The torrent that feeds it rushes down a succession of precipices, hurrying dashing along to meet the waters of the Arve.