in his way! My mother will never hear of it, and she will be perfectly right. Now, if you were to enter a Government office----'
'Years must elapse before I should have mounted the first grades, and during that time I must be altogether dependent on you and your mother.'
This was said in so harsh and curt a tone that Edmund drew himself up quickly.
'Oswald, have I ever let you feel that?'
'You--never! But your very generosity makes me feel it more.'
'So here we are on the old ground again! You are capable of doing the most idiotic thing in the world, merely to shake off this so-called dependence. But what is the matter, I wonder? Why has the carriage stopped? I really believe we are fast in the snow here on the main-road.'
Oswald had already let down the window, and was looking out.
'What is up?' he asked.
'We are stuck,' was the phlegmatic reply of the post-boy, who seemed to consider the thing as perfectly natural.
'Oh, we are stuck, are we!' repeated Edmund, with an irritated laugh. 'And the man informs us of it with that sweet philosophic calm. Well, granted we are stuck. What is to be done?'
Oswald made no reply, but opened the carriage-door and stepped out. The situation could be taken in at a glance; agreeable it certainly was not. From the spot they had reached, the road descended in a steep incline, and the narrow defile through which they must pass was completely blocked by an enormous drift. There the snow lay several feet high, and presented so compact a mass that to get through it seemed impossible. The coachman and horses must have become aware of this simultaneously, for the latter ceased all exertion, and the former sat with drooping whip and reins, gazing at his two passengers as though he expected from them counsel or assistance.
'This confounded post-chaise!' burst forth Edmund, who had followed his companion's example and alighted in his turn. 'Why the deuce had not we our own horses sent out to meet us! We shall not reach Ettersberg now before dark. Driver, we must get on!'
'There is no getting on, sir,' replied the latter, with imperturbable serenity. 'You, gentlemen, can see it for yourselves.'
The young Count was about to make an angry retort, when Oswald laid his hand on his arm.
'The man is right. It really is not to be done. With these two horses only we cannot possibly advance. There is nothing left us but to stop here a while in the carriage, and to send the post-boy on to the next station to procure us a relay.'
'So that we may be snowed up here meanwhile. Rather than that, I would go on to the post-house on foot.'
Oswald's eyes travelled with a somewhat sarcastic glance over his comrade's dress, which was suited only to a railway coupé or a carriage.
'You propose going through the woods on foot in that attire? Along a path where one sinks to the knee at every step? But you will take cold standing here exposed to this sharp wind. Have my cloak.'
So saying, and without more ado, he unfastened his cloak, and placed it about the Count's shoulders, the latter protesting violently, but in vain.
'Do not give it to me; you will have no protection yourself against the wind and weather.'
'Nothing hurts me. I am not delicate.'
'And, in your opinion, I am?' inquired Edmund tetchily.
'No, only spoilt. But now we must come to some decision. Either we must stay here in the carriage and send on the post-boy, or we must endeavour to push forwards by the footpath. Decide quickly. What is to be done?'
'What an abominable way you have of summing up things!' said Edmund, with a sigh. 'You are constantly setting one an alternative----choose this or that. How do I know if the footpath is practicable?'
Here the discussion was interrupted. The snorting of horses and the thud of hoofs on the snow were heard at some little distance, and through the mist and falling flakes a second carriage could be seen approaching. The powerful animals which drew it overcame with tolerable ease the difficulties of the way, until they reached the formidable descent. Here they, too, came to a stand. The coachman drew rein, contemplated the block before him with an ominous shake of the head, and then turned to speak to some one inside the carriage. His report was evidently as unsatisfactory as that delivered by the post-boy, and was received with a like impatience. The answer, which came in a clear, youthful voice, was given sharply and with much energy:
'It is all of no use, Anthony. We must get through.'
'But, Fräulein, if it can't be done!' objected the coachman.
'Nonsense! it must be done. I will just look for myself.'
No sooner were the words spoken in a most decided tone than they were carried into effect. The carriage-door flew open, and a young lady--a lady of whose youth there could be no possible doubt--sprang out. She appeared to be familiar with the March temperature of this mountainous country, and to have taken the necessary precautionary measures, for her costume was one suited to winter. She wore a dark travelling-dress, and over it a fur-trimmed jacket well buttoned about her slender figure, while securely pinned about her hat was a thick veil which covered head and face. The fact that on alighting her foot sank into the soft snow almost to the border of her boot seemed in no way to affect her. She advanced valiantly a few steps, then stopped on beholding another carriage drawn up just before her own.
The attention of the two gentlemen had, of course, also been attracted. Oswald, indeed, merely bestowed a cursory glance on the new-comer, and then addressed his mind again to the critical situation in which they found themselves; but Edmund, on the other hand, at once lost all interest in it.
He left to his companion any further consideration of the difficulty. In an instant he was at the stranger's side, and, executing a bow as elaborate as though they had been in a drawing-room, spoke thus:
'Pardon me, Fräulein, but I perceive we are not the only persons surprised by this incomparable spring weather. It is always consolatory to meet with companions in misfortune; and as we are exposed to a like danger, that of being completely, hopelessly snowed up, you will allow us to offer you our aid and assistance.'
In making this chivalrous offer. Count Ettersberg lost sight of the fact that he and Oswald were as yet helpless themselves, having found no way of overcoming the obstacle in their path. Unfortunately, he was at once taken at his word, for the young lady, no whit abashed by a stranger's address, replied promptly in her former decided tone:
'Well, have the kindness then to make us a way through the snow.'
'I?' asked Edmund, dismayed. 'You wish me to----'
'I wish you to make us a road through the snow--most certainly I do, sir.'
'With the utmost pleasure, Fräulein, if only you will be so good as to tell me how I am to set about it.'
The toe of her little boot tapped the ground vigorously, and there was some slight asperity in her reply.
'I fancied you might have found out that already, as you proffered your help. Well, we must get through some way, no matter how it is managed.'
With this, the speaker threw back her veil, and proceeded to inspect the situation. The withdrawal of that dark blue gauze revealed features of such unwonted loveliness that Edmund, in his surprise, forgot to make response. A fairer sight, indeed, could hardly have been beheld than the face of this young girl, rose-tinted by the action of the keen mountain air. Her brown curly hair peeped and struggled rebelliously out of the silken net which sought to confine it. Her eyes, of the deepest, deepest blue, were not serene and calm as blue eyes are expected to be; on the contrary, they gleamed and sparkled with the saucy merriment which youth and happiness alone can give. Every smile brought a charming, delicious little dimple into either cheek, but there was an expression about the small mouth which hinted at waywardness and defiance; and it might well be that in that little head, beneath those rebellious locks, there lodged a child's caprice,