Leonard, ever on the watch, knew that some fresh spring of happiness had been found, and he wormed the news out of Gerald. It drove him almost mad. If a child was born to them he might bid farewell forever to every chance of stepping into possession of the fortune which Gerald possessed, and which ought by right to have been his. "I must find a way," he thought, with burning hatred in his heart, "I must find a way, and soon, or it will be too late." "My dear boy," he said to Gerald, "I am overjoyed at the tidings. Heaven bless you, and Emilia, and the little one--my nephew or my niece, Gerald; which!--who is going to cheer our hearts!" It was evening when this confidence passed between Gerald and Leonard. They had been travelling for a few days in the Valais, and were making for the village of Vissoye, where they intended to remain a little while if they could find accommodation, and make it the starting-point of idle excursions in the romantic neighborhood. They had mules and guides; Emilia was riding in front, alone for a few minutes, while the step-brothers, walking in the rear, were conversing. Gerald was too enamoured of Emilia to leave her long alone, and presently he was walking by her side, with his hand in hers. The guides took no notice, being well accustomed to these loving exchanges on the part of foreign tourists. "Do you hear Leonard singing?" asked Gerald. "I wish he could meet some one like you--but that, I think, is impossible, Emilia--to make him happy as you have made me. He deserves everything that is good." While he uttered these words, Leonard, who was carolling a mountain song to show how light of heart he was, gazed at the precipice over which they were passing, and thought, even in the midst of his singing, "If she would only topple over! Things would be so much easier then. Such accidents have occurred. Now, if the guides were absent, and Gerald had gone on a little ahead, just round that turn where he could not see what was going on, I daresay it could be managed. It would not take a moment. A bold sweep, a scream, and all would be over." He stopped singing, to give full play to his thoughts, and he mentally acted the tragic scene, from its initiatory stage to the point where he stood with his arms round the distracted Gerald, endeavoring to console him for the horrible loss. It did not appear so difficult; he was a clever fellow, and he ought to be able to manage it. But it would have to be done very, very carefully; no shadow of suspicion must rest upon him. Corrupt as was Leonard's nature, he would go only to a certain length; he stopped short where there was fear of danger to himself.