But
then he would break his word, the one thing that poor half-heathen
Jock truly cared about.
Meantime he was keeping it as best he knew how under the
circumstances, by minding his prayers more than he had ever done
before, trying to attend when part of the service was read on
Sundays, and endeavouring to follow the Evelyn sabbatical code, but
only succeeding in making himself more dreary and savage on Sunday
than on any other day.
By easy journeys they arrived at Engelberg early on a Friday
afternoon, and found pleasant rooms in the large hotel, looking out
in front on the grand old monastery, once the lord of half the
Canton, and in the rear upon pine-woods, leading up to a snow-crowned
summit. The delicious scent seemed to bring invigoration in at the
windows.
However, Jock and Armine were both tired enough to be sent to bed, if
not to sleep, immediately after the-—as yet, scantily filled table
d'hote. The former was lying dreamily listening to the evening bells
of the monastery, when Cecil came in, looking diffident and
hesitating.
"I say, Jock," he began, "did you see that old clergyman at the table
d'hote?"
"Was there one?"
"Yes; and there is to be a Celebration on Sunday."
"O! Then Armine can have his wish."
"Fordham has been getting the old cleric to talk to your mother about
it.
Pages:
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476