Once more he started forward. Now he must give his whole attention to the path, in order not to fall or lose his way. The little fields of Gandria soon come to an end. Then wild tracts follow, that jut out over the lake, and are covered with a thick growth of low bushes; then come ravines with crumbling sides, that go tumbling straight downwards, and are half hidden by the bushes. In such places as these Franco was obliged to feel his way blindly, to cling first to one branch, then to another, plunging his face in among the leaves, that, at least, smelt of Valsolda, and dragging himself from bush to bush. He must explore the ground with his foot, trembling lest it give way beneath him, and seeking for traces of the path. The bundle he carried was small, but nevertheless it embarrassed him. The rustling of the foliage as he brushed past, irritated him; it seemed as if it must be heard a long way off, on the hills and on the lake, in the solemn hush of the night. Then he would stop and listen. He could hear only the distant thundering of the falls at Rescia, the hooting of owls in the woods over yonder, across the lake, and from time to time, far below, a sharp stroke on the water, for which he could not account. It took him quite an hour to reach the frontier. There, between the Valle del Confine and the Val Malghera, the forest had been recently cut down, and the rocky slope was bare. This enhanced both the danger of falling, and that of discovery. He crossed this tract very slowly, often pausing, sometimes crawling on hands and knees. Before reaching Oria he heard the faint dip of oars far below. He knew the customs-guards' boat sometimes passed the shore of Val Malghera at night. Surely these were the guards. Beneath the chestnut trees of Origa he breathed freely once more. There he was hidden, and could walk noiselessly on the grass. He descended the western slope of Val Malghera and climbed up the other side without encountering any obstacles. On approaching Rooch his heart beat furiously. Rooch is a sort of outpost of Oria. There the little path ends that he had so often followed with Luisa on mild winter afternoons, gathering violets and laurel leaves, and talking of the future. He remembered that the last time, they had had a discussion concerning the most desirable husband for Maria, and the qualities he must possess. Franco had hoped he would be a country gentleman, but Luisa had been in favour of a civil engineer.