Next day they walked on, first on one side of the river, then on the other, loitering on every bridge to watch the gray water roaring among the worn gray rocks below. They ate their lunch on the terrace of the little inn at Stuben, looking across at Pfunds lying in the mouth of the valley opposite. And when they came to the Cajetan Bridge, instead of crossing it with the high-road, Ray kept to the old path along the left bank, through the narrow Finstermünz Pass, and made straight for Martinsbruck, and so avoided the long bends and steep zig-zags leading to and from Nauders in the mouth of the Stillebach Valley. It was rough walking, but he explained, “It cuts off a lot, you see, and when we cross that bridge at Martinsbruck we’re in Switzerland.” “That sounds like getting near home,” said Lois. “It’s a neutral country anyway, and maybe we’ll get news there of what’s really happening. But it’s a good long way from home. I believe you’re tired of tramping already.” “Am I? Do I look it?” “You do not. But you look as though a kiss would encourage you--to say nothing of me.”... The tops and sides of the mountains had been wreathed with smoke-coloured clouds all day. It was only as they drew near to Martinsbruck that the evening sun struggled out, and they saw a peak here and there soaring up above the clouds and all aglow with crimson fire,--a wonderful and uplifting vision. “The Delectable Mountains,” murmured Lois, at this her first sight of the alpen-glüh. “Our Promised Land lies the other way,” said Ray, “But we’ll carry our own glory-fire with us.” They stood watching till the red glow faded swiftly up the summits of the cloud-borne peaks and left them chill and ghostly, and Lois heaved a sigh of regret. “Wait!” said Ray, with his hand on her arm; and in a minute or two the cold white mountain-tops flushed all soft rose-pink, so exquisitely sweet and tender that Lois caught her breath and laid her hand in his, as though she must fain share so exquisite a joy with him. “How lovely!” she whispered, profoundly moved by the sight and the warm grip of his hand, through which his heart seemed to beat up into hers. “The sun’s last warm good-night kiss! Oh, if they could only be like that always!” “Then we would not enjoy them half as much. Don’t watch it fade,” and they turned and went. “We will always remember it at its best.... Life is to be like that with you and me, right on and on and on for ever. It is a good omen. And here,”--as they crossed the bridge--“we are in Switzerland, and this little Post Hotel will serve us excellently.”