He gripped the window-sill behind him. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary. 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. I took the usual way home. Lucy had been ignoring her, not purposefully, but noticeably. She was practicing with them on that very day, and displaced a rather mediocre boy violinist who claimed “to be better at the viola anyway” as first chair. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him.
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