Life and worldly cares, and even worldly joys, seemed sometimes to sink into almost insignificance amidst these mountain solitudes. They were so grand, so sublime, so immovable. Their lessons came home to Lauraine's aching heart, and soothed and comforted it insensibly to herself. She grew less sad, she brooded less over what she had lost. She had no hope, nothing to look forward to; yet still the present so steeped her in peace and rest that it seemed to her in after years as if these fragrant forests, this wilderness of ferns and flowers, these foaming waters, and far-off gleam of shining glaciers and crowning snows, had possessed some magic power that insensibly soothed and lulled her heart's long pain. Late one afternoon she and Lady Etwynde are returning from a drive to a little village some two miles distant. The sun is just setting above the forest heights, there is alternate light and gloom among the heavy foliage, those beautiful shades of green and gold that make up so much of the charm of a wood. Lady Etwynde is driving rather quickly, and the road is narrow. Before them she sees the figure of a horseman proceeding leisurely along. At the near approach of the ponies' rapid trot he draws his horse aside to make room. Lauraine leaning back in the little low carriage, gives a careless glance up as she passes, then all the pallor of her face flushes deepest scarlet; she starts forward with an exclamation of amazement. Lady Etwynde notices it, and reins in the ponies. "Mr. Athelstone! Is it possible?" she says. In astonishment quite as genuine, Keith draws the bridle, and bends towards the two figures. "What a strange meeting," he says, as he shakes hands first with Lauraine, then with Lady Etwynde. "I thought you were in London," Lauraine says quickly. After one wild leap of joy her heart seems to grow still and cold with a great dread. What evil fate, she wonders, has thrown him across her path now? They are all too genuinely astonished to be embarrassed, and Keith proceeds to explain how he has been mountaineering for the last month in the Tyrol district; how his headquarters at present are that very little village they have just visited; and how he has ridden over to Erlsbach from idle curiosity, to see what the place is like. Of course there remains nothing for it but to invite him to the Kaiser Hof, and an hour later the trio are sitting at dinner, the table drawn close by the open window, and the fresh pine-scented air blowing in cool and soft from the mountains. Keith and Lauraine talk very little to each other. The brunt of the conversation falls on Lady Etwynde, and she in no way objects. Keith has always been a favourite of hers, and they have many sharp and witty arguments, while that pale, grave figure in the soft draperies listens and smiles, and feels at once disturbed and restless, and yet glad.