Act III

IN THE VALLEY

It was about the middle of the month of February when Vendale and
Obenreizer set forth on their expedition. The winter being a hard one,
the time was bad for travellers. So bad was it that these two
travellers, coming to Strasbourg, found its great inns almost empty. And
even the few people they did encounter in that city, who had started from
England or from Paris on business journeys towards the interior of
Switzerland, were turning back.

Many of the railroads in Switzerland that tourists pass easily enough
now, were almost or quite impracticable then. Some were not begun; more
were not completed. On such as were open, there were still large gaps of
old road where communication in the winter season was often stopped; on
others, there were weak points where the new work was not safe, either
under conditions of severe frost, or of rapid thaw. The running of
trains on this last class was not to be counted on in the worst time of
the year, was contingent upon weather, or was wholly abandoned through
the months considered the most dangerous.

At Strasbourg there were more travellers' stories afloat, respecting the
difficulties of the way further on, than there were travellers to relate
them. Many of these tales were as wild as usual; but the more modestly
marvellous did derive some colour from the circumstance that people were
indisputably turning back. However, as the road to Basle was open,
Vendale's resolution to push on was in no wise disturbed. Obenreizer's
resolution was necessarily Vendale's, seeing that he stood at bay thus
desperately: He must be ruined, or must destroy the evidence that Vendale
carried about him, even if he destroyed Vendale with it.

The state of mind of each of these two fellow-travellers towards the
other was this. Obenreizer, encircled by impending ruin through
Vendale's quickness of action, and seeing the circle narrowed every hour
by Vendale's energy, hated him with the animosity of a fierce cunning
lower animal. He had always had instinctive movements in his breast
against him; perhaps, because of that old sore of gentleman and peasant;
perhaps, because of the openness of his nature, perhaps, because of his
better looks; perhaps, because of his success with Marguerite; perhaps,
on all those grounds, the two last not the least. And now he saw in him,
besides, the hunter who was tracking him down. Vendale, on the other
hand, always contending generously against his first vague mistrust, now
felt bound to contend against it more than ever: reminding himself, "He
is Marguerite's guardian. We are on perfectly friendly terms; he is my
companion of his own proposal, and can have no interested motive in
sharing this undesirable journey." To which