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If I had crossed the Muretto, I should not be lame to-day; but I took Corvatsch in my path, and I fell, and when I saw Etta's grave the grass was growing on it. Come! The turf is sixteen years old now." Breaking off thus abruptly, he swung away into the open pasture. Bower, heavy with wrath and care, strode close behind.
Consequently he deemed her altogether too prudish, and was so out of patience with her that he and Stampa went off for a two days' climb by way of the Muretto Pass to Chiareggio and back to Sils-Maria over the Fex glacier.
As yet, it was making for the Muretto Pass rather than the actual ravine of the Forno; but a few wraiths of vapor were sailing high overhead, and it needed no weatherwise native to predict that ere long the glacier itself would be covered by that white pall. She glanced at Bower. He smiled cheerfully. "It is nothing," he murmured. "I really don't care," she said.
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