“No, no!” he cried animatedly. “For lek him go by village. Bad road dissa way. No cross ze field. Verboten!”
Then Helen remembered that trespassers are sternly warned off the low lying lands in the mountains. Grass is scarce and valuable. Until the highest pastures yield to the arid rock, pedestrians must keep to the beaten track.
“I was quite mistaken,” she said. “I see now that the path I was trying to reach leads here only. And I am very, very sorry I disturbed you.”
“I fear I have alarmed you, fräulein.”
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He hobbled nearer, the ruin of a fine man, with a nobly proportioned head and shoulders, but sadly maimed by the accident which, to all appearances, made him useless as a guide.
“Pardon an old man’s folly, fräulein,” he said humbly. “I thought none could hear, and I felt the loss of my little girl more than ever to-day.”
“Your daughter? Is she buried here?”
“Yes. Many a year has passed; but I miss her now more than ever. She was all I had in the world, fräulein. I am alone now, and that is a hard thing when the back is bent with age.”
Helen’s eyes grew moist; but she tried bravely to control her voice. “Was she young?” she asked softly.