ready for the removal of the cattle. 

"Go over, Tony, to our native valley," said the old farmer to his only son and heir. "An aged cousin of mine lives there; they say her daughter is a fine girl; it might be a good thing if you could persuade her to come to us as herdswoman." Early next morning the young man set out on his errand. 

The shades of night still lurked among the rocks like giants in disguise, but the peaks of the glacier were already aglow with the light of morning. The youth, accustomed to the beauties of his native mountains, gave scarcely a glance to the splendour of the Alps, but hastened onwards with head and heart full of anxiety about his cattle. Soon he reached the narrow mountain ridge between the two lofty glaciers, from which the way led downwards to his native valley. 

At this spot stood a tall cross, with dark arms outstretched over both the glaciers, as if it would tell of the dangers which had threatened the traveller who, out of gratitude for his deliverance, had caused a cross to be erected on this lonely height. Tony knelt to pray, as was the custom in those times and in that country. His head was bent low, so that he did not see the grave face which looked down on him from one of the glaciers. Surely it must have been carried thither on eagles' wings, for there, to that glassy height which seemed almost nearer the sky than the earth, no human foot could ever climb. Yet that figure stood there calm, strong, and erect. Long silvery hair flowed over the shoulders; round the head flashed something like sunbeams, or like a mysterious diadem of carbuncles; and the dark eyes pierced the distance, and rested on the kneeling one with an earnestness that went deep down into his heart. 

The young man rose and descended the winding path to the valley. The apparition on the lofty glacier stood long looking after his receding figure, and then, with the sunbeams playing among his silvery locks, walked with sure footsteps that never slipped down over the gleaming field of ice.

Late in the afternoon Tony sat once more at the foot of the cross, with a lovely maiden by his side. She had placed her little bundle on the ground at her feet, her hands lay folded on her lap, and with an expression of mingled grief and newly-awakened hope she looked into the face of her companion. Her mother had died a few days before, and poverty was even in those good old days a bitter thing, as the poor orphan learned to her cost. For the warden of the village told her bluntly that the cottage in which she had lived 

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