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But, on the whole, the Simplon appearing to be the hopefuller route, Vendale decided to take it. Obenreizer bore little or no part in the discussion, and scarcely spoke. To Geneva, to Lausanne, along the level margin of the lake to Vevay, so into the winding valley between the spurs of the mountains, and into the valley of the Rhone.
And soon my lady put a pretty little tombstone over Tom's shell in the little churchyard in Vendale, where the old dalesmen all sleep side by side between the lime-stone crags. And the dame decked it with garlands every Sunday, till she grew so old that she could not stir abroad; then the little children decked it, for her.
You do us an honour," he added, lowering himself again gradually to his customary polite level, "which deserves, and has, our most grateful acknowledgments. But the inequality is too glaring; the sacrifice is too great. You English are a proud people, Mr. Vendale. I have observed enough of this country to see that such a marriage as you propose would be a scandal here.
Releasing his visitor's two arms, which he had lightly pinioned at the elbows by way of embrace, M. Obenreizer also sat, remarking, with a smile: "You are well? So glad!" and touching his elbows again. "I don't know," said Vendale, after exchange of salutations, "whether you may yet have heard of me from your House at Neuchatel?" "Ah, yes!" "In connection with Wilding and Co.?" "Ah, surely!"
As they ascended, the road became gradually more rugged and difficult. But the spirits of Vendale rose as they mounted higher, leaving so much more of the road behind them conquered. Obenreizer spoke little, and held on with a determined purpose. Both, in respect of agility and endurance, were well qualified for the expedition.
Permit us to embrace the occasion of specially commanding to you M. Jules Obenreizer. Impossible!" Wilding looked up in quick apprehension, and cried, "Eh?" "Impossible sort of name," returned his partner, slightly "Obenreizer. I remember now; 'when travelling with his niece." "With his ?" Vendale had so slurred the last word, that Wilding had not heard it. "When travelling with his Niece.
"Shall we say friendship, Mr. Vendale?" "Say love and we shall be nearer to the truth." Obenreizer started out of his chair. The faintly discernible beat, which was his nearest approach to a change of colour, showed itself suddenly in his cheeks. "You are Miss Obenreizer's guardian," pursued Vendale.
She made a momentary effort to disengage herself from her lover's embrace. She looked up at him entreatingly. She tried to speak. The words died on her lips in the kiss that Vendale pressed on them. "Let me go, Mr. Vendale!" she said faintly. "Call me George." She laid her head on his bosom. All her heart went out to him at last. "George!" she whispered. "Say you love me!"
She tried to resume her needle. It was useless; her eyes failed her; her hand failed her; she could find nothing. "We have been talking," said Vendale, "of the happy time when we first met, and first travelled together. I have a confession to make. I have been concealing something.
And there have been more black beetles in Vendale since than ever were known before; all, of course, owing to Tom's having blacked the original papa of them all, just as he was setting off to be married, with a sky-blue coat and scarlet leggins, as smart as a gardener's dog with a polyanthus in his mouth. At last he got to the bottom.
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