4. CHAPTER IV.
“THE STAR OF THE VALLEY.”
The traveller in the sable cloak, with Valentine
and the hunter-guide, after leaving Monna
Barbara's hut, pursued their way in silence till
they reached the old man's cottage, which, as
we have said, was distant only a few hundred
yards. It stood at the opening of a wide gulch,
through which, far up into the mountains, a
narrow road extended, skirting the sides of
great precipices, and winding beneath rugged
walls of rock, whilst high over all, especially at
this season of the year, immense shelves of snow
and ice hung, apparently self-poised in the air,
but ready at any moment to move in fearful
avalanches upon the vales below. Through
this pass, Valentine was engaged to guide the
stranger some half-dozen miles, to a place called
the “Huguenots' Altar,” and thence downward
a half-dozen miles farther to the north, till they
reached the neighborhood of the great lower
pass, called Il Boccheta, where, at the period of
our story, the grand army of the French Republic,
under the youthful General Bonaparte, was
engaged in forcing a passage through the Alps,
into the heart of the Genoese territory, thence to
overrun like a torrent the whole Italian land.
Il Boccheta was then in possession of the invading
army, with which, doubtless, the stranger
was connected in some station of rank.
When the three arrived at Nicolo's small but
neat and comfortable dwelling, they were met at
the gate of a little paling which surrounded it by
the sprightly figure of Bianca, who had opened
wide the cottage door, disclosing the warm, inviting
interior, with its white walls and floor, and
shining hearth, on which blazed a genial fire.
The apartment was rendered more brilliant
still by the light of a large triangular lantern of
thick glass, fixed against the cottage window
that looked towards the mountain-path. This
lantern not only irradiated the cottage, but illuminated
with its outward streaming rays the dark
walls of rock for quite a distance upward.
But Bianca herself was the true light of old
Nicolo's home, and the beacon which, more than
the lantern or firelight, conducted him homeward
with anxious heart, from every mountain
journey. For in truth she was a gentle and
loving maiden, with a heart full of all guileless
feeling, and thoughts pure as the mountain
snow-wreaths. Beautiful withal was she, at
least so thought her grand-father and for the
matter of this, all the youths, in a score of miles
around, were of the same opinion, which they
would have gladly revealed to Bianca herself,
had she permitted them so much freedom. But
the old hunter's fair grand-child was far from
encouraging the gallantries of the youths, choosing
rather to be called Nicolo's “Star of the
Valley,” which was the fanciful name his affection
had bestowed upon her (because of her
watchful tending of the beacon light for him,
almost since she was a baby), than to be known
by any appellation that a stranger could bestow
upon her.
Nevertheless, a shrewd observer might have
suspected, from the sudden flush which overspread
the maiden's cheek, as she recognized in
her grand-father's company the handsome young
neighbor, Valentine, that there might, after all,
be such a thing as a heart in the little one's
breast, and that such a heart was not entirely
whole. Perhaps, unfortunately, Nicolo noticed
this, for he quickly said to his grand-child:
“My staff, Bianca! I shall go a mile or two
with the stranger. It is a mild night, and the
walk will do me no harm.”
Then, holding the cottage-door half-open, he
waited for the maiden to bring the long, iron-shod
pole, which the guides and hunters of the
Alpine districts are accustomed to carry with
them in all their journeys. Indeed, the passage
of ridges and chasms in the ice, without such an
instrument to support or steady the steps, would
be not only hazardous, but very likely, impossible.
The young girl soon equipped her grandsire
with everything requisite for his short expedition,
not, however, without stealing a glance at
Valentine, which was returned by a tender look
that plainly discovered the poor youth's situation
to be beyond a cure. Old Nicolo did not remark
this interchange of regards; nevertheless, as
Valentine and the stranger preceded him in departing
from the cottage, the grand-father lingered
a moment, and said in a low tone to the
maiden:
“I have something to speak to thee about,
when I return, Bianca; and I trust to find thee
dutiful to my wishes.”
As the old guide spoke, he made a slight inclination
of his head, in the direction which
Valentine had taken; and poor Bianca felt her
young heart overshadowed at once with the
foreboding of her guardian's opposition to a
love which was already in possession of her
heart. She dropped her eyes sadly, as she replied:
“I hope ever to be dutiful, my dear father!”
“Bless thee, Bianca! bless thee!” murmured
the old man, kissing her forehead. Then, grasping
his staff, he hurried after the other pedestrians,
who had commenced ascending to the mountain
pass.
Bianca watched them, till they had passed the
point where the lantern's last rays extended, and
she could no longer discern her grand-father's
figure, nor the tall form of Valentine, whom she
loved in secret as well as he loved her.
