"Tell mother, not an hour but I have thought of her. Tell her that I am glad she loves Jesus; and father, ask him for my sake to read the little Bible that I sent him. I would so like to see them, Erwald; but it cannot be. For this, as well as for my husband and children, I would live; but I go to Jesus. Live so as to meet me there."
There was no excitement, only a weary look stole over the face. Leaving Erwald, I walked back to the inn. Though far away from home, and surrounded by strange scenery and strange people, it was delightful to find the same faith here as in my own home, the same heaven inspired confidence in the Redeemer.
The next morning the sick woman was more comfortable. Erwald did not say it, but I knew that he wanted to stay with her.
"Go with us to Le Prieuré," I said to him, "and then you shall return. In the valley of Chamouni I feel sure we can procure a guide."
As we left Maglan, our road, or rather path, led up a deep and fertile valley, watered by the Arve, rich in woods of fir, and bounded by mountains of various forms and of tremendous altitudes; their rugged peaks sometimes lost in the clouds; at others, their heads towered in majesty above them. Bathed in the blue ether of the heavens they looked as if themselves ethereal, oftentimes exhibiting a play of colors, having the appearance of transparent matter, of the purest elements and richest hues, and when seen in the light of the setting sun they were only more glorious. At the upper end of the valley we came upon the cataract of the Chede. It is elegant in form. The scenery that surrounds it is sylvan and sequestered. The torrent that feeds it rushes down a succession of precipices, hurrying dashing along to meet the waters of the Arve.
The path now became extremely difficult, and we continued to ascend, till we reached the lake of Chede, whose water is famed as the purest in the Alps. From this point we saw Mont Blanc—saw the clouds roll off, and leave its rugged head white with the snows of ages—a beautiful contrast with the deep azure of the sky it seemed almost to touch. Looking, our eyes were dazzled by the vast and spotless object before us; pure and fleecy as were the light clouds that lingered round it, they were dark compared with its glittering brightness; while the obscurity in which the lower scenes were wrapt gave it the appearance of a crystal mountain in a sea of clouds. With Erwald standing at my side, it seemed but a step from earth to heaven, through those regions of the purest white, untrodden solitudes, meet only for the visits of celestial beings.
Thus far our way had been comparatively safe. Now, we had need of caution at each step; scrambling along ledges of lofty rocks, with deep ravines beneath; then crossing mountain torrents where a single misstep would have been fatal. Before night we passed the remains of an avalanche, an enormous mass of snow crushing as it fell everything in its path. We were now in the valley of Chamouni. At the sight of the first glacier I felt some little disappointment. It is not itself a mountain of ice, but lies in a deep sloping ravine between two mountains, filling it up, and differing in height according to the base. There are five of these glaciers in the valley. They usually lie in a direction north and south, and thus deeply imbedded in the clefts of the valley the sun rarely visits them.
From Savoy our numbers were greatly increased, and as the daylight vanished we quickened our pace. Le Prieuré was before us. This was the place where I had promised to part with Erwald. There were plenty of guides; but none of them with the sweet calm look of the boy face before me.
"You will think of us sometimes," he said as I held his hand at parting, "and when you pray to our heavenly Father, ask Him to look upon us in mercy."
"I will ask Him, Erwald; and I shall always remember the journey from Geneva to Chamouni as the most varied and interesting of my life."