The path now became extremely difficult, and we continued to ascend, till we reached the lake of Chede, whose water is famed as the purest in the Alps.  From this point we saw Mont Blanc—­saw the clouds roll off, and leave its rugged head white with the snows of ages—­a beautiful contrast with the deep azure of the sky it seemed almost to touch.  Looking, our eyes were dazzled by the vast and spotless object before us; pure and fleecy as were the light clouds that lingered round it, they were dark compared with its glittering brightness; while the obscurity in which the lower scenes were wrapt gave it the appearance of a crystal mountain in a sea of clouds.  With Erwald standing at my side, it seemed but a step from earth to heaven, through those regions of the purest white, untrodden solitudes, meet only for the visits of celestial beings.

Thus far our way had been comparatively safe.  Now, we had need of caution at each step; scrambling along ledges of lofty rocks, with deep ravines beneath; then crossing mountain torrents where a single misstep would have been fatal.  Before night we passed the remains of an avalanche, an enormous mass of snow crushing as it fell everything in its path.  We were now in the valley of Chamouni.  At the sight of the first glacier I felt some little disappointment.  It is not itself a mountain of ice, but lies in a deep sloping ravine between two mountains, filling it up, and differing in height according to the base.  There are five of these glaciers in the valley.  They usually lie in a direction north and south, and thus deeply imbedded in the clefts of the valley the sun rarely visits them.

From Savoy our numbers were greatly increased, and as the daylight vanished we quickened our pace.  Le Prieure was before us.  This was the place where I had promised to part with Erwald.  There were plenty of guides; but none of them with the sweet calm look of the boy face before me.

“You will think of us sometimes,” he said as I held his hand at parting, “and when you pray to our heavenly Father, ask Him to look upon us in mercy.”

“I will ask Him, Erwald; and I shall always remember the journey from Geneva to Chamouni as the most varied and interesting of my life.”

“The Bride Of The Aar.”

It was the day after Christmas; a heavy fall of snow during the night, the tiny flakes full of graceful motion till long past noon, had made a gloomy day for the inmates of Myrtlebank.  True, there was many a gay trill and clear silvery laugh ringing through the old rooms.  Alick was spending his college vacation at home, and Frank and Carry were merry as school-girls are wont to be, when books are flung aside, and fun and frolic take the place of study and recitation.

“What are you dreaming about, uncle Paul?” and Carry perched herself on the arm of her uncle’s chair, and patted his cheek with her little dimpled hand.

“I have been thinking, child”—­and there was a choking sensation in uncle Paul’s throat, and a strange mist in his clear gray eyes.  Carry’s sympathies were awakened.