"Frank and I never go to church in Catholic countries. It's our way of showing our Protestantism."
Daphne turned from her irreverent parent, and became absorbed in the contemplation of the scenery.
"What peak is that to the left, Frank?"
"That," I replied, "is the Silver Horn of the Jungfrau."
And I proceeded to deliver a topographical lecture, interwoven with graceful legends and poetic quotations, specially prepared for this occasion on the previous night, in order that I might shine in Daphne's eyes as a hero of knowledge. A sudden exclamation from her, however, put a period to my eloquence.
"Who is this coming up the mountain-path? I have been watching him for a long time."
Whoever the person was, he ascended the mountain with the freedom of one to whom the path was perfectly familiar, selecting his way among the mossy boulders and grass-hidden pools without a moment's hesitation, and springing from crag to crag with the agility of a chamois-hunter.
"'Excelsior' evidently is his motto," said I. "Longfellow's young man, perhaps, 'mid snow and ice.'"
"Minus the 'banner with the strange device,'" returned my uncle. "Hanged if it isn't Il Divino! How comes he to be here?"