Frank saw nothing of this; and when on a bright and frosty day he began the ascent of the Arlberg, he little knew that the carriage, about half a mile in front, had been his travelling companion for the past week. Disdaining to follow the winding high-road, Frank ascended by those foot-tracks which gain upon the zig-zags, and thus soon was miles in advance of the caleche. At last he reached the half-way point of ascent, and was glad to rest himself for a few minutes on one of the benches which German thoughtfulness for the wayfarer never neglects to place in suitable spots. A low parapet of a couple of feet separated the road from a deep and almost perpendicular precipice, at the foot of which, above two thousand feet beneath, stood the village of Stuben. There was the little chapel in which he had his morning's mass, there the little Platz, where he had seen the post-horses getting ready for the travellers; there, too, the little fountain, covered with a shed of straw, and glistening with many an icicle in the bright sun. The very voices of the people reached him where he sat; and the sounds of a street-organ floated upwards through the still atmosphere. It was a scene of peaceful isolation such as would have pleased Nelly's fancy. It was like one of those “Dorf s” she herself had often carved to amuse a winter's evening, and Frank's eyes filled up as he thought of her and of home. The sound of feet upon the snow suddenly roused him, and, on looking round, Frank saw a traveller slowly coming up the pass. His dress at once proclaimed that he was not a pedestrian, save from choice, and was merely sauntering along in advance of his carriage. In the mere cursory glance Frank bestowed upon him he could see that he was a young and handsome man, with a certain soldierlike bearing in his air that well suited his bold but somewhat stern features. “You journey well, young fellow,” said he, addressing Frank familiarly. “This is the fifth day we have been fellow-travellers; and although I have post-horses, you have always kept up with me on your feet.” Frank touched his cap with a somewhat stiff courtesy at this unceremonious address; and, without deigning a reply, employed himself in arranging the straps of his knapsack. “Are you a soldier?” asked the stranger. “A cadet!” replied Frank as bluntly. “In what regiment, may I ask?” “The Franz Carl.” “Ah! my own old corps,” said the other, gayly. “I served four years with them in the Banat. From what part of the Empire are you you have n't the accent of an Austrian?” “I am an Irishman.” “Oh! that explains it. And your name?” “Dalton. And now, sir, what may be yours, for I don't see why this curiosity is to be one-sided,” said Frank, with an air even more insolent than the words. “I am Count Ernest of Walstein,” said the other, without a touch of irritation. [Illustration: 356] “What rank do you hold in the service?” asked Frank, boldly. “That of lieutenant-colonel, boy.”