"They are waiting at the foot of the path, monsieur."

Lynde lost no time getting Ruth into the saddle, and the party began
their descent, the guide again in charge of the girl's mule. On the
downward journey they unavoidably faced the precipices, and the road
appeared to them much steeper than when they ascended.

"Is it wind or rain, do you think?" asked Lynde, looking at a wicked
black cloud that with angrily curled white edges was lowering itself
over the valley.

"I think it is both, monsieur."

"How soon?"

"I cannot know. Within an hour, surely."

"Perhaps we were wrong to attempt going down," said Lynde.

"Monsieur might be kept at Couttet's one, two--three days. But, if
monsieur wishes, I will go on and tell the friends of mademoiselle that
you are detained."

"Oh, no!" cried Ruth, filled with horror at the suggestion. "We MUST
return. I shall not mind the rain, if it comes."

As she spoke, a loose handful of large drops rustled through the pine-
boughs overhead, and softly dashed themselves against the rocks.