They got into the carriage and continued on their way; and very soon it became apparent, from the flashes of sunlight and gleams of blue, that they had worked their way up through the cloud-layers. In process of time, indeed, they got clear of the mists altogether, and emerged on to the higher valleys of the Alps--vast, sterile, the white snow-plains glittering in the sun, except where the rocks showed through in points of intense black. There were no longer any pines. They were in a world of snow and barren rocks and brilliant sunlight, with a cold luminous blue sky overhead; themselves the only living creatures visible; their voices sounding strangely distinct in the silence. When they were quite at the summit of the pass, a smurr, as we say in Scotland, came over; but it did not last. By the time they had got the drags on the wheels, the vast gorge before them--descending and winding until it disappeared in a wall of mountains of the deepest blue--was again filled with sunlight; and now they began to be a little bit sheltered from the wind as the horses trotted and splashed through the wet snow, carrying them away down into Italy. They lunched at Campo Dolcino, still some thousands of feet above the level of the sea. Then on again, swinging away at a rapid pace down into a mighty valley; rattling through galleries cut in the solid rock; then out again into the grateful sunlight; taking the sharp curves of the road at the same breakneck speed; with always below them--and so far below them that it was silent--a rushing river sweeping down between fair pastures and dots of villages. As the evening fell, this clatter of hoofs and wheels came to a sudden end; for they were entering the town of Chiavenna, and there you must go at walking pace through the narrow little thoroughfares. It was strange for them to come down from the snow-world into this ordinary little town, and to find in the hotel not only all sorts of products of a high civilisation, but even people who were speaking the familiar English tongue. There was a telegram addressed 'Lieutenant F. H. King, R.N.,' in the case in the bureau; when Frank King had got it out and read it he was silent for a second or two. 'I hope there is no bad news,' said Miss Beresford, in a kindly way. She was not a very sympathetic person; but Frank King had brightened up their tour during these last two days, and she was in a measure grateful to him. 'No,' he said, absently. 'Oh no, not bad news. The telegram is from the officer I left in charge of the _Fly-by-Night_; I rather think that I shall be setting out for home again in a couple of days.' 'Oh, I am sorry for that,' she said, quite naturally. 'You go on again to-morrow, Miss Beresford?' 'We were proposing to do so.' 'And where do you think of going to when you get to Lake Como?' 'Bellagio, most probably.' 'Oh, well, I will go with you as far as Bellagio, if I may,' he said, somewhat thoughtfully. CHAPTER IX. THE SERENATA.