She had a clear uplifted look which startled me. There was
suddenly a chill air blowing between us.

"I must not tell you yet but you will know soon. He was a good
man. I am glad we have met."

She buried herself in writing in a small book I had noticed and
longed to look into, and no more was said.

We struck camp next day and trekked on towards Vernag - a rough
march, but one of great beauty, beneath the shade of forest
trees, garlanded with pale roses that climbed from bough to bough
and tossed triumphant wreaths into the uppermost blue.

In the afternoon thunder was flapping its wings far off in the
mountains and a little rain fell while we were lunching under a
big tree. I was considering anxiously how to shelter Vanna, when
a farmer invited us to his house - a scene of Biblical
hospitality that delighted us both. He led us up some break-neck
little stairs to a large bare room, open to the clean air all
round the roof, and with a kind of rough enclosure on the wooden
floor where the family slept at night. There he opened our
basket, and then, with anxious care, hung clothes and rough
draperies about us that our meal might be unwatched by one or two
friends who had followed us in with breathless interest. Still
further to entertain us a great rarity was brought out and laid
at Vanna's feet as something we might like to watch - a curious
bird in a cage, with brightly barred wings and a singular cry.
She fed it with fruit, and it fluttered to her hand. Just so