That Stick

Northmoor, and at Innsbruck he was quite alive, and walked about in fervent delight, not desisting till he and Constance had made out every statue on Maximilian's monument. His wife was so much tired and worn-out, that she heartily rejoiced in having provided him with such a good little companion, though she was disappointed at being obliged to fail him, and get what rest she could at the hotel. But then, as she told him, if he learnt his way about it now, he would be able to show it all to her when they had both gained strength at Ratzes.

Bertha had obtained full instructions and a welcome for them from Mrs. Bury, a kindly person, who, having married off her children while still in full health and vigour, remained at the service of any relation who needed her, and in the meantime resorted to out-of-the-way places abroad.

The railway took them to Botzen, which was hotter still, and thence on to Castelruth, whence there was no means of reaching Ratzes but by mule or chaise a porteux. Both alike were terrible to poor Mary; however, she made up her mind to the latter, and all the long way was to her a dream of terror and discomfort, and of trying to admire-what she knew she ought to admire-the wonderful pinnacle-like aiguilles of the Schern cleaving the air. For some time the way lay over the great plateau of the Scisser Alp-a sea of rich grass, full of cattle, where her husband and niece kept on trying to bring their mules alongside of her to make her participate in their ecstasy, and partake of their spoils-mountain pink, celestially blue gentian, brilliant poppy, or the like. Here the principal annoyance was that their mules were so obstinately bent on not approaching her that she was in constant alarm for them, while Constance was absolutely wild with delight, and even grave Frank was exhilarated by the mountain air into boyish spirits, such as impressed her, though she resolutely prevented herself from lowering them by manifesting want of sympathy, though the aiguilles that they admired seemed to her savage, and the descent, along a perilous winding road, cut out among precipices, horrified her-on, on, through endless pine forests, where the mules insisted on keeping her in solitude, and where nothing could be seen beyond the rough jolting path. At last, when a whole day had gone by, and even Constance sat her mule in silence and looked very tired, the fir trees grew more scanty. The aiguilles seemed in all their wildness to be nodding overhead; there was a small bowling-green, a sort of chalet in two divisions, united by a gallery: but Mary saw no more, for at that moment a loose slippery stone gave way, and the bearers stumbled and fell, dragging the chair so that it tipped over.

Constance, who had ridden on in front with her uncle, first heard a cry of dismay, and as both leaped off and rushed back, they saw her aunt had fallen, and partly entangled in the chair.

'Do not touch her!' cried Frank, forgetting that he could not be understood, and raising her in his arms, as the chair was withdrawn; but she did not speak or move, and there was a distressing throng and confusion of strange voices, seeming to hem them in as Constance looked round, unable to call up a single word of German, or to understand the exclamations. Then, as she always said, it was like an angel's voice that said, 'What is it?' as through the crowd came a tall lady in a white hat and black gown, and knelt down by the prostrate figure, saying, 'I hope she is only stunned; let us carry her in. It will be better to let her come round there.'

The lady gave vigorous aid, and, giving a few orders in German, helped Lord Northmoor to carry the inanimate form into the hotel, a low building of stone, with a high-pitched shingle roof. Constance followed in a bewilderment of fright, together with Lenchen, the Swiss maid, who, as well as could be made out, was declaring that a Swiss bearer never made a false step.

Lady Northmoor was carried into a bedroom, and Constance was shut out into a room that photographed itself on her memory, even in that moment-a room like a box, with a rough table, a few folding-chairs, an easel, water- coloured drawings hung about in all directions, a big travelling-case, a few books, a writing-case, Mrs. Bury's sitting-room in fact, which, as a regular sojourner, she had been able to secure and furnish after her need. From the window, tall, narrow, latticed, with a heavy outside shutter, she saw a village green, a little church with a sharp steeple, and pointed-roof houses covered with shingle, groups of people, a few in picturesque Tyrolese costume, but others in the ordinary badly cut edition of cosmopolitan human nature. There was a priest in a big hat and white bordered bands discussing a newspaper with a man with a big red umbrella; a party drinking coffee under a pine tree, and beyond, those strange wild pointed aiguilles pointing up purple and red against the sky.

[Picture: There was a priest in a big hat . . .]

How delightful it would all have been if this quarter of an hour could be annihilated! She could find out nothing. Lenchen and the good-natured-looking landlady came in and out and fetched things, but they never stayed long enough to give her any real information, the landlady shouting for 'Hemzel,' etc., and Lenchen calling loudly in German for the boxes, which had been slung on mules. She heard nothing definite till her uncle came out, looking pale and anxious.

'She is better now,' he said, with a gasp of relief, throwing himself into a chair, and holding out his hand to Constance, who could hardly frame her question. 'Yes, quite sensible-came round quickly. The blow on the head seems to be of no consequence; but there may be a strain, or it may be only the being worn out and overdone. They are going to undress her and put her to bed now. Mrs. Bury is kindness itself. I did not look after her enough on that dreadful road.'

'Isn't there a doctor?' Constance ventured to ask.

'No such thing within I know not how many miles of these paths! But Mrs. Bury seems to think it not likely to be needed. Over-fatigue and the shake! What was I about? This air and all the rest were like an intoxication, making me forget my poor Mary!'

He passed his hand over his face with a gesture as if he were very much shocked and grieved at himself, and Constance suggested that it was all the mule's fault, and Aunt Mary never complained.

'The more reason she should not have been neglected,' he said; and it was well for the excluded pair that just then the boxes were reported as arrived, and he was called on for the keys, so that wild searching for things demanded occupied them.

After a considerable time, Mrs. Bury came and told Lord Northmoor that he might go and look at his wife for a few moments, but that she must be kept perfectly quiet and not talked to or agitated. Constance was not to go in at all, but was conducted off by the good lady to her own tiny room, to get herself ready for the much-needed meal that was imminent.

They met again in the outer room. There was a great Speise saal, a separate building, where the bathers dived en masse; but since Mrs. Bury had made the place her haunt, she had led to the erection of an additional building where there was a little accommodation for the travellers of the better class who had of late discovered the glories of the Dolomites, though the baths were scarcely ever used except by artizans and farmers. She had this sitting-room chiefly made at her own expense with these few comforts, in the way of easy folding-chairs, a vase of exquisite flowers on the table, a few delicate carvings, an easel, and drawings of the mountain peaks and ravines suspended everywhere.

Besides this there were only the bedrooms, as small as they well could be.

They were summoned down to the evening meal, and the maid Lenchen was left with Lady Northmoor. There was only one other guest, a spectacled and rather silent German, and Constance presently gathered that Mrs. Bury was trying to encourage and inspirit Lord Northmoor, but seemed to think there might be some delay before a move would be possible.

They sent her to bed, for she was really very tired after the long walk and ride, and she could not help sleeping soundly; but the first thing she heard in the morning was that the guide had been desired to send a doctor from Botzen, and the poor child spent a dreary morning of anxiety with nothing to do but to watch the odd figures disporting themselves or resting in the shade after their baths, to try a little sketching and a little letter-writing, but she was too restless and anxious to get on with either.

All the comfort she got was now and then Mrs. Bury telling her that she need not be frightened, and giving her a book to read; and after the midday meal her uncle was desired by Mrs. Bury, who had evidently assumed the management of him, to take the child out walking, for the doctor could not come for hours, and Lady Northmoor had better be left to sleep.

So they wandered out into the pinewoods, preoccupied and silent, gazing along the path, as if that would hasten the doctor. Constance had perceived that questions were discouraged, and did her best to keep from being troublesome by trying to busy herself with a bouquet of mountain flowers.

The little German doctor came so late that he had to remain all night, but his coming, as well as that of a brisk American brother and sister, seemed to have cheered things up a good deal. Mrs. Bury talked to the German, and the Americans asked so many questions that answering them made things quite lively. Indeed, Constance was allowed to wish her aunt good-night, and seeing her look just like herself on her pillows, much relieved her