"And this is the place we ought to visit?"

"Cordelia is in her last term. She won't have many opportunities, and she ought to see it while she can. Tomorrow night it will be full moon and it's the Hunter's Moon too. That's a good time."

"Hunter's Moon?" echoed Monique.

"The one that follows the Harvest Moon. It is one of the best and it is the time of the hunting season. It comes in October."

"Is it really October?" asked Frieda. "It seems so warm."

"It was cold last night," said Lydia, shivering in memory.

"In the day it is lovely," I said. "We ought to make the most of it. It's odd to think I shall not be coming back."

"Shall you mind?" asked Monique.

"I shall miss you all."

"And you will be with that wonderful aunt," said Frieda enviously.

"And you'll be rich," said Elsa, "and independent too, for you will own that school and the wonderful old manor house."

"No, no. Not for years. I'd have it when Aunt Patty dies and I'd never want that."

Elsa nodded. "Well," she said, "if you don't want to go to Pilcher's Peak I'll tell some of the others."

"Why don't we go?" said Lydia. "Is it tomorrow ... the full moon?"

"We could take the wagonette."

"We could say we wanted to see some of the wild flowers in the forest."

"Do you think we should be permitted? Wild flowers are scarcely a topic for the drawing rooms of the élite. And what wild flowers are there at this Lime of the year?"

"We could think of something else," said Lydia.

Nobody could, however, and the harder we thought the more enticing a trip to Pilcher's Peak became.

"I know," said Elsa at length, "you are going into the town to select a pair of gloves for Cordelia's aunt. She was so impressed by those Cordelia came home with and of course they can't make such gloves ... so chic, so right ... anywhere but in Switzerland. That will seem very plausible to Madame. Then the wagonette instead of going into the town turns off and goes into the forest. It is only two miles. You could ask for extended Lime as you wish to call into the pâtisserie for a cup of coffee and one of those cream gateaux which can only be found in Switzerland. I am sure permission would be granted, and that will give you time to go to the forest and sit under the lovers' oak tree."

"What perfidy!" I cried. "What if Madame de Guérin knew that you were corrupting us? You'd be turned out to wander in the snowy mountains."

Elsa put the palms of her hands together as though in prayer. "I beg you do not betray me. It is only a joke. I wish to put a Little romance into your lives."

I laughed with the others. "Well, why shouldn't we go? Tell us what we do, Elsa?"

"You sit under the oak. You can't fail to see it. It's there below the Peak. You just sit there and talk together ... just naturally, you know. Then if you are lucky, your future husband will appear."

"One between four of us!" cried Monique.

"Perhaps more ... who can say? But if one comes that is enough to show you there is something in our legend, eh?"

"It's ridiculous," said Frieda.

"It will be somewhere to go," added Monique. "Our last little outing before winter comes," said Lydia.

"Who knows? It may start tomorrow."

"Then too Tate for Cordelia," Lydia reminded us. "Oh, Cordelia, do persuade Aunt Patty to let you stay another year."

"Two is really enough to put the polish on. I must be positively gleaming already."

We laughed awhile and we decided that on the following afternoon we would go to Pilcher's Peak.


It was a clear afternoon when we set out. The sun made it as warm as spring and we were in high spirits as the wagonette turned off from the road to the town and took us up to the forest. The air was clear and crisp and the snow sparkled on the distant mountain-tops. I could smell the pungency of the pines which made up most of the forest, but there were among the evergreens some oaks, and it was one of these which we had to look for.

We asked the driver about Pilcher's Peak and he told us we couldn't miss it. He'd show us when we turned the bend. We would see it then rising high above the ravine.

The scenery was superb. In the distance we saw mountain slopes, some of them wooded near the valleys, the vegetation growing more sparse further up.

"I wonder which of us will see him?" whispered Lydia.

"None," responded Frieda.

Monique laughed. "It won't be me because I am already bespoke."

We all laughed.

"I think Elsa makes up half the things she says," I added.

"Do you believe that about her coming down in the world?"

"I don't know," I said thoughtfully. "There is something about Elsa. She's different. It could be true. On the other hand she might have made it up."

"Like the visions of Pilcher's Peak," said Frieda. "She's going to laugh at us when we get back."

The sound of horses' hooves was soothing as we rocked happily to and fro. I should miss these outings when I left. But it would be wonderful of course to be home with Aunt Patty.

"There's the Peak," said the wagoner, pointing with his whig.

We all looked. It was impressive from this spot. It looked like a wrinkled old face ... brown, creased and malevolent.

"I wonder if it's meant to be Pilcher?" said Monique. "And who was Pilcher anyway?"

"We'll have to ask Elsa," I said. "She seems to be a mine of information on such matters."

We were in the forest now. The wagon drew up and our driver said: "I'll wait here. Now you young ladies take that path. It leads straight up to the base of the rock. There's a big oak tree at the bottom called Pilcher's Oak."

"That's what we want," said Monique.

"Less than half a mile." He looked at his watch. "I'll be ready to take you back say in an hour and a half. Orders is that you're not to be late."

"Thank you," we said and we set off over the uneven ground towards the great rock.

"There must have been a violent volcanic eruption here," I commented. "So Pilcher's was formed and much much later the oak tree grew. Seeds dropped by a bird, I daresay. Most of them are pines around here. Don't they smell delicious!"

We had almost reached the oak growing close to the rock. "This must be it," said Lydia, throwing herself down and stretching out on the grass. "This smell makes me feel sleepy."

"That lovely redolent odour," I said, sniffing eagerly. "Yes, there is something soporific about it."


"What now we're here?" asked Frieda.

"Sit down ... and wait and see."

"I think it's foolish," said Frieda.

"Well, it's an outing. Somewhere to go. Let's pretend we are shopping for gloves for my Aunt Patty. I do want to get her some before I leave."

"Stop talking about leaving," said Lydia. "I don't like it."

Frieda yawned.

"Yes," I said, "I certainly feel like that too."

I stretched myself out on the grass and the others did the same. We lay there, propping up our heads with our hands and gazing up through the branches of the oak tree.

"I wonder what it was like when they threw people over," I went on. "Just imagine being taken up to the top, knowing you were going to be thrown over ... or perhaps asked to jump. Perhaps some fell on this spot."

"You make me feel creepy," said Lydia.

"I suggest," put in Frieda, "that we go back to the wagonette and go into the town after all."

"Those little cakes with the coloured cream are delicious," said Monique.

"Would there be time?" asked Frieda.

"No," said Lydia.

"Be quiet," I commanded. "Give it a chance." We were all silent and just then he came through the trees.

He was tall and very fair. I noticed his eyes immediately. They were piercing blue, and there was something unusual about them; they seemed as though they were looking beyond us into places which we could not see ... or perhaps I imagined that afterwards. His clothes were dark and that accentuated his fairness. They were elegantly cut but not exactly in the height of fashion. His coat had a velvet collar and silver buttons, and his hat was black, tall, and shiny.

We were all silent as he approached- awe-struck, I suppose, devoid for the moment of our Schaffenbrucken polish.

"Good afternoon," he said in English. He bowed. Then he went on: "I heard your laughter and I had an irresistible urge to see you."

Stiil we said nothing and he went on: "Tell me, you are from the school, are you not?"

I said: "Yes, we are."

"On an excursion to Pilcher's Peak?"

"We were resting before we went back," I told him, as the others seemed to remain tonguetied.

"It's an interesting spot," he went on. "Do you object to my talking to you for a moment?"

"Of course not." We all spoke together. So the others had recovered from their shock.

He sat down a little distance from us and surveyed his long legs.

"You are English," he said, looking at me.

"Yes... I and Miss Markham. This is Mademoiselle Delorme and Frâulein Schmidt."

"A cosmopolitan group," he commented. "Yours is the school for the young ladies of Europe. Am I right?"

"Yes, that is it."

"Tell me why did you take this excursion to Pilcher's Peak today? Is it not rather a summer outing?"

"We thought we'd like to see it," I said, "and I probably shan't have an opportunity again. I'm leaving at the end of the year."

He raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? And the other young ladies?"