But somehow there was that in old Dalton's face that gave no encouragement to an open resistance, and Monsieur Gregoire knew well the case where compliance was the wisest policy. He also knew that in his vocation there lay a hundred petty vengeances more than sufficient to pay off any indignity that could be inflicted upon him. “I will wait my times,” was the reflection with which he soothed down his rage, and affected to forget the insult he had just suffered under. Dalton, whose mind was cast in a very different mould, and who could forgive either himself or his neighbor without any great exertion of temper, turned now coolly away, and sauntered out into the street. The flush of momentary anger that colored his cheek had fled, and a cast of pale and melancholy meaning sat upon his features, for his eye rested on the little wooden bridge which crossed the stream, and where now two muffled figures were standing, that he recognized as his daughters. They were leaning on the balustrade, and gazing at the mountain that, covered with its dense pine-wood, rose abruptly from the river-side. It had been the scene of many a happy ramble in the autumn, of many a delightful excursion, when, with Frank, they used to seek for fragments of wood that suited Nelly's sculptures. How often had they carried their little basket up yonder steep path, to eat their humble supper upon the rock, from which the setting sun could be seen! There was not a cliff nor crag, not a mossy slope, not a grass bank, they did not know; and now, as they looked, all the past moments of pleasure were crowding upon their memory, tinged with the sad foreboding that they were never again to be renewed. “That's the Riesen Fels, Nelly, yonder,” said Kate, as she pointed to a tall dark rock, on whose slopes the drifting snow had settled. “How sad and dreary it is, compared with what it seemed on Frank's birthday, when the nightingale was singing overhead, and the trickling stream came sparkling along the grass when we sat together. I can bear to part with it better thus than if all were as beautiful as then.” Nelly sighed, and grasped her sister's hand closer, but made no answer. “Do you remember poor Hanserl's song, and his little speech all about our meeting there again in the next year, Nelly?” “I do,” said Nelly, in a low and whispering voice. “And then Frank stood up, with his little gilt goblet, and said, 'With hearts as free from grief or care, Here 's to our happy--'” “Wiederkehr,” cried Hanserl, supplying the word so aptly. How we all laughed, Nelly, at his catching the rhyme!” “I remember!” sighed Nelly, still lower. “What are you thinking of, Nelly dearest?” said Kate, as she stood for a few seconds gazing at the sorrow-struck features of the other.