"Dreadfully," said Mona simply. "In fact," she added after a pause, "I am ashamed now to think how unnerved I allowed myself to get." "Why--you had some cause. Few men would have strictly enjoyed the situation. How far had you gone?" "I don't quite know. About a mile round the corner, I think. I was among the trees and did not notice the mist. By the way--did you get to the Jördalsnut?" "No: I left my portmanteau at the inn, and started with that intention; but I went in for a bit of scrambling on this side of the valley, and then the mist drove me home. I am very glad it drove me to your assistance--not but what you would have got on all right without me." "I can't tell you how glad _I_ am. I really don't know what I should have done," and she raised her eyes to his with a frank look of gratitude. He started, almost imperceptibly. There was a curious charm in that honest un-selfconscious glance, but there was something more than that. "You are not travelling alone, are you?" he asked, after a minute's silence. "No, I am with my uncle and aunt. Sir Doug--my uncle usually walks with me,--not that I think a chance accident like this is any argument against my going about alone if I choose." There was no answer. He was looking at her in an interested way, as if meditating the question profoundly. "Please don't tell any one you found me _in extremis_," she went on; "it would be too great a disappointment to be obliged to give up my solitary walks." "How can I tell any one what is not true?" he said, recovering himself. "I did not find you in extremis at all. I did not even know you were frightened till you laughed. You looked at me with such dignified self-assurance when I hove in sight that I was more than half inclined to lift my hat and pass on." Mona laughed incredulously. They trudged on for a time in silence. Once she looked up and found his eyes fixed on her face with an expression of amusement. "It is very odd," he said, finding himself caught. "What is?" "Oh, I don't know--the whole thing." He broke into a quiet laugh, and Mona joined in it from sympathy. He was a curious creature this son of Anak, whose broad, glistening face gleamed at her so benevolently through the mist. "Have you been long at Stalheim?" he asked. "Only a few days." "Is the hotel good?" "Ye-e-s. This part of Norway is in an awkward transition stage between the primitive inn and the cosmopolitan hotel." "Are there many tourists?" "Oh yes! They go rushing through by hundreds every day. They stop to smoke a cigar, eat a dinner, or sleep for a night, and then join the mad chase of kariols again. They are noisy, too; my uncle gets quite indignant at the way they clatter about the wooden floors in their heavy boots, and shout their private affairs up-stairs and down-stairs, or from the verandah to the road." "I suppose he does," and the son of Anak laughed again.