He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on the floor. He has no imagination, no real generosity. “Impossible to say,” he answered. 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. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. More than ever a sense of confusion was upon Ennison. But, feeling secure of vengeance, he determined to abide his time.
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