" "Here it is," replied Edgeworth Bess. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. Her scream shook the windows of the sedan. There was no railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees clamber among gigantic boulders. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. That added to his puzzle.
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