CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.

A NIGHT OF TERROR.

"For the strength of the hills we bless Thee,
Our God, our Father's God;

Thou hast made our spirits mighty,

By the touch of the mountain sod!"-HEMANS.

"HERE you all are, then," said the cheerful voice of Mr. Kennedy, as Julian, Eva, and Cyril, followed by the guide entered the little Mürrem Inn.

"Here are three of us," answered Julian, "haven't Edward and Violet arrived? Not having seen them for the last half hour, I fancied they must have got before us by some short cut."

"No, they've not come yet. Fortunately for you, Eva, Aunt Dudley is very tired and has gone to bed," he said laughing, "otherwise you would have got a scolding for not taking better care of Violet."

"Oh, then, they must be close behind somewhere for certain," said Julian; "they could not have missed the path-it lay straight before us the whole way."

"Well, I hope they'll be in soon, for it begins to

look lowering. I've ordered tea for you; make haste and come down to it. You're ready for tea, Cyril, I have no doubt."

"Rather!" said Cyril, reviving! for fatigue had made him very quiet during the last half hour. And, indeed, the tempting-looking display on the table, the bright teapot, and substantial meal, and amber-coloured honey, would have allured a more fastidious appetite.

They ran up stairs to make themselves comfortable before having tea and retiring to bed, and on re-entering the warm and glowing room, their first question was, "Have they come ?"

"No," said Mr. Kennedy, anxiously, and even the boy's face grew grave and thoughtful as Julian rose from the tea-table and said, "I must go and search for them."

He seized his straw hat, put on his boots again, and ran out, calling on the guide to accompany him. They took out with them a lighted torch, but it was instantly extinguished by the streaming rain. Julian and the guide shouted at the top of their voices, but heard no sound in reply; and the darkness was now so intense, that it was madness to proceed farther amid that howling storm.

They ran back to the inn, where the rest sat round the table, pale and trembling with excessive fear. In reply to their hasty questions, Julian could only shake his head sorrowfully.

"The guide says that in all probability they must have been overtaken by the storm, and have run to

some châlet for refuge. If so, they will be safe and well-treated till the morning."

"You children had better go to bed," said Mr. Kennedy to Eva and Cyril, who reluctantly obeyed. "You cannot be of any help, and directly the storm begins to abate, Julian and I will go and find the others."

"O papa," sobbed Eva; "poor Eddy and Violet ! what will become of them: perhaps they have been struck by the lightning."

"They are in God's hand, dearest," he said, tenderly kissing her tearful face, as we all are. In His hand they are as safe as we.”

"In God's hand, dear Eva,” said Julian, as he bade her good-night. "Go to sleep, and no doubt they will be here safe before you awake."

"I shall not sleep Julian," she whispered; "I shall go and pray for their safety. Dear, dear Eddy and Violet."

Cyril lingered in the room.

"Do let me stay up with you, Julian. I couldn't sleep-indeed, I couldn't; and I might be of some use when morning comes, and when you go to look for them. Do let me stay, Julian.”

Julian could not resist his brother's wish, though Mr. Kennedy thought it best that the boy should go to bed. So they compromised matters by getting him to lie down on the sofa, while they sate up, and stared out of the windows silently into the rain. How wearily the time goes by when we dread a danger which no action can avert !

Meanwhile the objects of their anxiety had hurried up to the light, and found that it came from the ragged windows of an old tumble-down tenement, built of pineboards which the sun had dried and charred, until they looked black and stained and forbidding. Going up the rotten wooden steps to the door, and looking through the broken windows, Kennedy saw two men seated, smoking, with a flaring tallow candle between them.

"Must we go in there?" asked Violet; and Kennedy observed how her arm and the tones of her voice were trembling with agitation.

"Isn't it better than staying out in this dreadful storm?" said Kennedy. "The Swiss are an honest people, and I daresay these are herdsmen who will gladly give us food and shelter."

Their voices had roused the inmates of the châlet, and both the men jumped up from their seats, while a large and fierce dog also shook himself from sleep, and gave a low deep growl.

Kennedy knocked at the door. A gruff voice bade him enter; and as he stepped over the threshold, the dog flew at him with an angry bark. Violet uttered a cry of fear, and Kennedy struck the dog a furious blow with the nobbed end of his alpen-stock, which for the moment stunned the animal, while it drew down on the heads of the tired and fainting travellers some very rough expostulations.

"Can you give us shelter?" said Kennedy, who spoke German with tolerable fluency. "We have lost our way, and cannot stay out in this storm."

The man snarled an affirmative, and Violet observed with a shudder that he was an ill-looking, one-eyed fellow, with villany stamped legibly on every feature. The other peasant looked merely stolid and dirty, and seemed to be little better than a crétin, as he sate heavily in his place without offering to stir.

"Can't you give us some food, or at any rate some milk?—we have been to the top of the Schilthorn, and are very tired."

The man brought out a huge coarse wooden bowl of goat's milk, and some sour bread; and feeling in real need of food, they tried to eat and drink. While doing so, Kennedy noticed that Violet gave a perceptible start; and looking up, observed the one eye of their grim entertainer intently fixed on the gold watch-chain which hung over his silk jersey. He stared the man full in the face, finished his meal, and then asked for a candle to shew the lady to her room.

"No light but this," said the Cyclops, as Kennedy mentally named him.

"Then you must lend me this."

And taking it without more ado, he went first to the cupboard from which the milk had been produced, where seeing another dip, he coolly took it, lighted it, and pushed open the creaking door which opened on the close, damp closet which the man had indicated as the only place where Violet could sleep.

This room opened on another rather larger; and here, putting the candle on the floor, for the room (if room it could be called) was destitute of all furniture,