It was evening when this confidence passed between Gerald and Leonard. They had been travelling for a few days in the Valais, and were making for the village of Vissoye, where they intended to remain a little while if they could find accommodation, and make it the starting-point of idle excursions in the romantic neighborhood. They had mules and guides; Emilia was riding in front, alone for a few minutes, while the step-brothers, walking in the rear, were conversing. Gerald was too enamoured of Emilia to leave her long alone, and presently he was walking by her side, with his hand in hers. The guides took no notice, being well accustomed to these loving exchanges on the part of foreign tourists.
"Do you hear Leonard singing?" asked Gerald. "I wish he could meet some one like you--but that, I think, is impossible, Emilia--to make him happy as you have made me. He deserves everything that is good."
While he uttered these words, Leonard, who was carolling a mountain song to show how light of heart he was, gazed at the precipice over which they were passing, and thought, even in the midst of his singing, "If she would only topple over! Things would be so much easier then. Such accidents have occurred. Now, if the guides were absent, and Gerald had gone on a little ahead, just round that turn where he could not see what was going on, I daresay it could be managed. It would not take a moment. A bold sweep, a scream, and all would be over." He stopped singing, to give full play to his thoughts, and he mentally acted the tragic scene, from its initiatory stage to the point where he stood with his arms round the distracted Gerald, endeavoring to console him for the horrible loss. It did not appear so difficult; he was a clever fellow, and he ought to be able to manage it. But it would have to be done very, very carefully; no shadow of suspicion must rest upon him. Corrupt as was Leonard's nature, he would go only to a certain length; he stopped short where there was fear of danger to himself.
They found rough but clean accommodation in the village, and after the evening meal Leonard left the lovers alone, and went out to smoke and think. So far as a full purse and creature comforts went he was in clover. He had plenty of money, and was enjoying the best of everything. The cigar he was smoking was of the finest brand that could be obtained; when they stopped at good hotels every luxury that could be obtained was his; the largest rooms with the grandest views, the most famous vintages, the most delicate dishes--nothing was spared. But how long would it last? When the child was born a new interest would be created which was certain to be injurious to him. Curse them! He was but a pauper, after all, and what he enjoyed was at the will of another, to be continued or taken away at a moment's notice. And he did not trust Emilia. He trusted no woman. They were a false, selfish lot, thinking only of themselves, with no sense of justice. It was intolerable that he should be at the mercy of one of the falsest and most selfish of the crowd.