‘Are you far from home?’
‘I don’t know. I dare say the people here will be able to tell me. But I think you said you were going down into the Grindelwald. I shall know where I am there. Perhaps you will let me walk with you. Horses can’t go very fast along these roads.’
‘You shall have my horse, my boy.’
‘No. I couldn’t think of that.’
‘You must. I haven’t been wandering all day like you. You can ride, I suppose?’
‘Yes, pretty well.’
‘Then you shall ride with Clara, and I’ll walk with the guide. I shall go and see after the horses presently.’
It was indeed a delightful close to a dreadful day. We sat and chatted a while, and then Clara and I went out to look at the Jungfrau. She told me they had left her mother at Interlaken, and had been wandering about the Bernese Alps for nearly a week.
‘I can’t think what should have put it in papa’s head,’ she added; ‘for he does not care much for scenery. I fancy he wants to make the most of poor me, and so takes me the grand tour. He wanted to come without mamma, but she said we were not to be trusted alone. She had to give in when we took to horseback, though.’
It was getting late, and Mr Coningham came out to find us.