themselves at Ischl for a week, possibly a fortnight, for Godfrey had pertinaciously insisted upon the necessity of seeing the Salzkammergut; and Mr. Cameron, determined and self-dependent when brought in contact with ordinary people, always succumbed to the will of his elder son, as being the reflection of his own superiority. Ischl was likely to prove by no means a bad choice, or at least it would not be so if only the weather would be favourable. But the fate of travellers in mountainous countries seemed likely to follow them, and they were waiting now, day after day, in the hope that a clear sky would admit of an expedition to Aussee, Gosau, and Hallstadt. In the meantime Myra had been carried off by some old friends of Mr. Cameron's, who had taken a house for three months on the Lake of St. Wolfgang, and the novelty alone would have been delightful to her. But the house at St. Wolfgang had a charm peculiar to itself. It had once formed part of the convent, and was built upon the very edge of the lake, and the water washed the walls of the building. The garden extended along a steep ridge at the foot of the mountain, and in the short summer months was filled with the rarest and richest flowers and shrubs of a southern land; the mighty walls, the rocks, forests, and alps of the Schaffberg, forming its background; and the blue lake, the white hamlets, and the encircling mountains, with their deep glens and recesses-creating an ever-changing view around it. To Myra it was a Paradise, and for one day Mr. Verney had been there to enjoy it with her. For one day only. Rosamond's face when he accepted Colonel Hensman's invitation was sufficient, so Myra thought, to prevent him from staying longer. Probably Mr. Verney was flattered by it, at any rate he immediately assured Mrs. Cameron that he should go over only for one day, and Rosamond was bright and gracious as his reward. Myra had watched this little scene as she watched many, making her own comments upon them, and drawing from them her own conclusions. But she had no one to show her whether those conclusions were right. She had read of love in books, and had formed an ideal of it in her own mind. What she now saw was very unlike what she had fancied, and at times it sorely perplexed her; but it did not shake her conviction. Unless Rosamond cared for Mr. Verney she could not make such direct efforts to attract him. Unless Mr. Verney cared for Rosamond he would not be so marked in his attentions, and so desirous to meet her wishes. These were to Myra self-evident facts. She was herself so essentially sincere in every word and action, whether good or bad, that a mockery of feeling was something utterly beyond her powers of comprehension; whilst her vivid imagination intensified every indication of interest, and deepened every expression of pleasure, till Rosamond felt as she would have felt, and Mr. Verney loved as she would wish to be loved. Why then should there be any delay? Why any mystery or doubt? Above all, why were her father and mother so blind to what was passing before them? 289 CHAPTER XXVIII. WHEN Mr. Verney left Myra, he crossed the open square by the church, and lingered in front of the inn. Part of the strangers' luggage was still in the entrance, and he carelessly examined it, asking at the same time a few questions of the landlord, who, with a cigar in his mouth, was standing by, giving orders for its removal. They were very short questions, and put with a haughty nonchalance which had the effect of checking any familiarity on the part of the landlord; but Mr. Verney learnt from them that the strangers were travelling alone, and were likely to remain at St. Wolfgang for several days. They had ordered dinner, and one of the ladies had been out, but was just returned; the other was too ill to see anyone. Mr. Verney replied to this hint by taking out a card, writing a few words upon the back, and desiring that it might be given to Mrs. Tracy instantly, and as the man rather sulkily obeyed, he followed him up the stairs to the ante-room. The public salon was silent, for the party who had been dining in it had betaken themselves to the open air, and their noisy voices might be heard as they shouted and sang in the garden at the back of the house. The room smelt of smoke; plates, dishes, and drinking cups were left upon the table. There could have been no place less agreeable for a private interview, but it was Mr. Verney's only resource; and after hearing the answer brought back to his note that the lady would see him as soon as possible - he sat down on a wooden bench waiting her arrival. The dreamy, indifferent look was gone from his face now, and in its stead there was an expression of struggling feeling which seemed to make the delay even of those few moments almost intolerable to him. He rose at last, and went to the door, as if determined to go without having attained the interview he had requested; but just then Mrs. Tracy appeared from the opposite side of the ante-room, and Mr. Verney, recovering himself, went forward to meet her, with the cool, easy, rather languid manner, which never forsook him in the presence of others. They met as old and intimate friends, or perhaps not really friends; Mrs. Tracy's face was much more expressive of her feelings than Mr.Verney's, and no one who looked at her could suppose that she was pleased to see him. Surprised and excited she evidently was, and her first words were those common to all persons under such circumstances: 'Where did you come from? How did you know we were here?' Mr. Verney's reply was short and matter-of-fact. 'I have been travelling with some friends. I did not expect you here, but I thought I saw you at St. Gilgen.' 'Then you have not come purposely to meet us?' was Mrs. Tracy's disappointed question. 'Purposely ? not exactly. But you say nothing of Charlotte.' 'She is very ill - worse.' They sat down, and there was a pause. Mr. Verney bent his eyes upon the ground, and said, 'How long has she been worse?' 'For about a fortnight. The voyage did her good, and when we landed at Trieste I was hopeful about her. There we had your letter saying that it was better we should not go to England, and since then she has failed rapidly.' 6 'I said what was best for her,' he replied; and his voice somewhat faltered. She needs amusement; in England she would only have care.' 'Charlotte does not dread care,' said Mrs. Tracy, drily. 'Still it is better she should delay. You must travel during the summer months, and then go to Italy.' 'And you will be with us?' Mr. Verney looked up suddenly. I thought I had explained everything in my letter. You heard from me at Vienna?' 'Our only letters have been those which we found at Trieste. I took Charlotte from thence to Venice. It was the only place in which she was interested; and we have travelled by Milan and Innsbruck.' Mr. Verney looked excessively annoyed. I |