He turned and pressed the button of the bell. The door opened and, with one more look, full of confident hope, she was gone--and in tears before the door closed, but that he did not know. With that last sweet sight of her--to him the fairest vision of Faith and Hope and Love Incarnate that ever was or could be--he turned and walked away along the dark empty street, slowly and heavily, and felt his life for the moment as dark and empty as the street. XIII When Lois Dare and Ray Luard came downstairs on the morning of August 7, they found the dark-panelled little salon of the ‘Golden Lion’ as cheerfully bright as a blazing fire and a pale sunbeam could make it; and outside, the upper alps of Urseren Thal were swathed with long wreaths of mist, above which the white tops of the Spitzberge shone like silver in the sunshine. Freda came hastening in with the coffee and milk and a distressed face on their account. “But it is too bad for you,” she burst out. “They have just sent us word on the telephone that there will be no diligence to-day, nor any more at all. All the horses are wanted for the war,--ach!--the cursed war! It will be the ruin of us all.” “That’s all right, Freda,” said Lois cheerfully. “Don’t worry about it on our account. We’ll manage quite well.” “We walked here, you see,” said Ray. “And we’ll just walk on over the Furka and down the valley till we get to Montreux--if there are no trains running.” “But, mon Dieu, what a walk! To Montreux! It will take you weeks!” “Not a bit. We get along quicker than that. So get our bill made out,--that’s a good girl, and we’ll start as soon as we’ve finished breakfast.” “Shall I put you up some lunch, monsieur and mademoiselle?” “No,” said Ray, after a moment’s thought. “We’ll have a proper lunch and a good rest at the Furkablick,--or the Belvédère, if we can get that far, and then get on to Oberwald. I don’t want to stop at Gletsch,” at which Freda smiled knowingly. She added four different kinds of cheese to their menu, buzzed about them to see that they laid in adequate supplies of honey and blaeberry jam, and finally brought them a bill which surprised them by its modesty and provided Ray with a pocketful of change out of a five-pound note. From the length of time Freda took to bring back the change he opined that she had had some difficulty in obtaining it. But how much he never knew. For Madame of the hotel had, for the first time in her life, looked dubiously at an English five-pound note. “But, Freda,” she said, “Will that be all right if England is beaten in the war, as they say she will be?” “She won’t,” said Freda oracularly. “And in any case an English five-pound note is always good.” “I don’t know. It always has been, but----”