“If I thought you would ever care for anyone else,”—and here the passion of jealousy flamed in his Italian eyes—“I’d kill myself—if I had the least doubt of you—I’d”—and he paused and leant on his oars, and stared at Cara fiercely—“I’d upset the boat, and drown us both, yes, in five minutes!”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Fritz! You know I am fond of you. As to the drowning—you forget that I can swim!”
“Not if you are out here in the middle,—and in your clothes—the water is too cold, and as to the depth, the lake is bottomless.”
“Don’t talk like this, it bores me!” said Cara,—secretly uneasy for all her sang-froid. She was aware that Fritz was capable of mad, rash actions, carried out on the impulse of the moment. To-day he looked strange, very strange! The veins on his forehead stood out like cord, and there was an odd light in his eyes.
“Come,” she continued authoritatively, “it is time we are getting back; the sun is slipping behind Pilatus. Keep out of this steamer’s wash, and row to the landing,” and without another word he obeyed.
As the two slowly mounted the hill hand in hand, half-way in the ascent, they halted on a little plateau where, under some ancient pine trees, there was a rough wooden bench,—a thoughtful provision not uncommon in a land of views. Here Fritz said:
“My mother is all eyes, like the dog in the fairy tale. She sees everything; but she will see me, my own master before long. In a week I go,—and the sooner I depart, the sooner I return to you, my Mitli, and for always,” and he snatched her into his arms, and kissed her passionately.
“Well, it pleased him, poor boy,” said Cara to herself; “he was certainly extraordinarily handsome, and what, after all, were a few kisses?”