Yet Ida’s sacrifice was the greatest, since Constantia possest a source of satisfaction in her bosom, of which her sister was not yet aware.
—“To-day,” said she, while her countenance was brightened with smiles, at the same time detaining Ida, who (having finished her orisons,) was on the point of turning from the cave; “to-day it is my turn to be the guide through our doubtful journey. Ida, I dreamt last night, that we were still wandering along the paths, which we traversed yesterday: methought, that you went foremost, and bewildered yourself in a narrow nook, where precipices on all sides impeded your further progress. I was lamenting over your distress; when lo! on a sudden St. Engeltruda stood before me, such as she is represented on the altar-piece in her Chapel at Engelberg. A ray of golden light detached itself from the aureol, which blazed round her head, and guided me to a small opening in a rock, exactly resembling that, which caught my eye in the first moment of my entering this cavern. I past through it: a narrow winding-way descended gradually into the valley. Suddenly, as if it had been by some magic spell, we were transported into those happy plains, where we past the years of infancy, and which I shall never cease to regret our ever leaving: there we became once more Mary and Rosanna Tell, and forgot in the humble tranquillity of Rutelis the sorrows and sufferings of our lofty hateful station.”—
Ida gave way to the enthusiastic hopes of her sister, and followed her, as with difficulty she forced her way through a narrow opening, which she had discovered at no great distance from the torrent. After springing boldly at the hazard of their lives over a few wide-yawning chasms, they reached a kind of green plain, where it was possible for them to proceed above a hundred yards without meeting any obstacle. A circumstance so new in their painful journey inspired Constantia with added confidence. She turned smiling to her sister, and pointed out two small white butterflies, who were sporting in the sunshine, and which (she was firmly persuaded) were the very same, whom she had seen sinking exhausted to the ground on the day before.
—“Yesterday,” said she with exultation, “yesterday they were the emblems of our distress; to-day they are the prophets of our speedy rescue. See, see! a favourable western gale wafts them kindly to the lower vallies, where they may flutter through fields of flowers, and forget how much they suffered from the frost, while they bask in the bright and cheering sunshine.”—
Her long undisturbed night’s rest, and her confidence in the protection of her Patron-Saint had greatly improved Constantia’s spirits: Ida’s on the contrary were much more deprest than at the beginning of their journey. They soon reached the termination of their easy road; and as fresh obstacles seemed again to impede their progress with every step, Ida asserted, that the difficulties, which they found in their present path were sufficient to prove, that they had judged ill in altering their direction. It was in vain, that Constantia attempted to demonstrate, that the course, which she so much regretted, would have led them into the most remote recesses of the Grimsel-Mountain, which towered above them on the one side; or that she pointed out the Tempest-horn, which rose on the other like some threatening giant, and on whose ice-covered limbs no path was discernable, which could possibly have been trodden by any mortal feet.
A narrow passage between two almost joining rocks guided them to the mountain of Gemmi: and now they perceived with joy, that instead of being one unvaried acclivity, their road every now and then suffered them to descend. It’s true, this road seemed rather calculated for the clambering of goats, than for the use of human beings: but though it was frequently interrupted by extensive chasms, they frequently found themselves assisted in passing them by broad planks, already laid over them by some friendly hand. Where there were none, and the Sisters were obliged to traverse the abyss with extreme hazard on some narrow shelf by clinging to the broken crags, still Constantia never would proceed, till she had discovered either an unemployed plank, which she brought from some other place, or the shattered branch of some wild fig-tree; in order that she might stretch it across the chasm, and enable any future wanderer to cross it with less trouble and risque. She also (as they proceeded onwards) began to relate a wonderful legend, which had been told her by one of the nuns of Zurich, explaining, why of all these mountains that of Gemmi alone was observed never to be whitened with snow or ice. But Ida was too much out of heart, and too fearful of their being engaged in a wrong direction, to permit herself to pay much attention to the legend; and as she did not think it worth notice, there can be no sort of occasion for my repeating it here.
From a rock, whose height made their heads giddy, they had ventured at mid-day to cast their eyes down into the regions beneath them, and which the sinking heart of Ida now made her despair of ever reaching. They could perceive from hence several dark spots, which Ida pronounced to be abysses, in which their path would at length terminate: and this decision she delivered with such positiveness, that Constantia would undoubtedly have consented to return, or else have chosen a different path, had either a return been now practicable, or another path been to be found. But as the day advanced, and the road still continued to sink itself lower and lower, with what rapture did they ascertain, that these supposed abysses in fact were parts of a village; whose smoking chimnies announced to them the neighbourhood of domestic comforts, and to whose peaceable shelter the cattle were at that moment returning from pasture.
The quick-sighted Ida was the first to make this discovery. She sank weeping upon the bosom of her sister, and entreated her to forgive the wayward humour, with which she had embittered their journey. Constantia folded the suppliant to her heart, and the Sisters united in offering up a prayer of fervent gratitude to the Saint, who had guided their wanderings so wonderfully and so well.
They resumed their journey, and now how easy did it seem to them! As they descended, the path gradually enlarged itself; and before the shutting in of night they found themselves safe under one of the cottage-roofs, where they learned for the first time after a long, long interval, what it was to rest without anxiety: in truth the short and broken slumbers, which visited them in the robber-valley, were scarcely worthy of being called by the sweet name of rest.
While the Damsels of Werdenberg were engaged in the above adventures; while one of them was anxiously and vainly expected at the Convent of Zurich, and while the other was most unjustly censured and despised for her supposed elopement with the acknowledged bridegroom of her friend; Count Henry of Montfort was eagerly pursuing the wrong track, into which he had been enticed by the perfidious chaplain of Castle-March. Persuaded that he should soon overtake Ida, he continued to rush forwards without allowing himself to rest for a moment; till in a little village belonging to the Canton of Glarus he was attacked by a severe fever, produced by the violence of his mental agitation, and by the inconsiderate speed, with which his journey had been performed. Nature at length yielded, and Henry was compelled to stop, and make his option either of recovering slowly, or of dying at once.