There was no railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees clamber among gigantic boulders. Her situation was perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic, and provocative of discussion. His literary instincts began to stir. ‘Tell me the truth, Melusine.
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