'Not believe, madame!' cried the soldier, wheeling his chair round; 'why, my wife, I have seen miracles wrought with my own eyes. When our Kridli——'
'Kridli! there's a barbarous name!'
'Then let her name be Marguerite, but I must say our Swiss name, Kridli, is the sweetest; so! when she was a little baby, her eyes were sore, and inflamed. We took her to the doctor at Stanz, he could do nothing for her; then we went by boat to Lutzern, and the doctors there said she must lose her sight; then we took her home to Sachseln, and we had recourse to the holy Bruder Klaus. We touched her eyes with the hem of his garment, and on the following day she had perfectly recovered her sight. In gratitude, we named our next child—this boy here, after him.'
'Where is Kridli now?' asked Gabrielle. Nicholas, hearing her mention his sister by her German name, nodded approvingly at her and smiled.
'Kridli is at Lutzern—Lucerne, the French call it,' answered the old soldier; 'she was a good girl, a sweet, simple girl, as fresh as one of our wild roses, as good as an angel.' He looked over at Gabrielle; 'sometimes you remind me of dearest Kridli. Poor, gentle Kridli! it seems to me to be but yesterday that I saw her. She used to have her hair platted and fastened up behind with broad silver spoons—that is the fashion in Unterwalden; and with her large white straw hat, she was enchanting. Poor Kridli!' he wiped his eye. 'Ah! she is happy. She is in such a pretty place. She lies on the south side of the great church of S. Leger, which rises with twin taper spires above the lake. There is a cloister all round the grave-yard, and as you walk in it you look through windows upon the blue expanse of water and away beyond to the Engelberg snow-peaks, and on the right stands Pilatus, cutting sharply against the evening sky. She is happy,' he said, in a low tone to himself; 'she is at Home, she is in Switzerland;' and then he began to hum sadly to himself the song, 'Herz, mein Herz.'
'Is it not time for prayers?' asked Madame Deschwanden, snappishly; 'it is very dark.'
The soldier looked at his watch, started, rapped on the table, and led the way into Klaus's workshop.
As soon as the ordinary devotions were over, Madame Deschwanden and her daughter rose. The corporal and his son wheeled round towards the niche containing the life-sized figure of the hermit of Sachseln, and began their German orisons to the saints of Switzerland.
Gabrielle hesitated for a moment whether to rise or to remain. Her heart had softened to the old corporal, and his legends had kindled devotion towards the wonderful patrons of the Alpine land. She therefore remained, and directed her eyes towards the grave, sad face of Bruder Klaus, irradiated by the tiny lamp that hung before it.
In changing his position Nicholas observed the girl; he looked over his shoulder and nodded, whilst a flash of pleasure lit up his large blue eyes.