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“Yes, and here is her mother.”

A heavy, vacant-looking woman entered the kitchen with some vegetables; she gave but a passing glance at the visitors, and tucking up her sleeves, proceeded indifferently about her duties.

As they reached the roof of Schwartzberg, Ashton-Kirk saw the searchlight, which he had witnessed in operation the night before, mounted on one of the towers. It was a powerful affair, and seemed in perfect order. But as to its uses Campe said nothing; he passed it by as though it did not exist.

Away in every direction stretched the faded countryside; the hills swelled, the tops of the denuded trees waved starkly in the breeze.

“The prospect is sober at this time of the year,” said Ashton-Kirk, as he gazed out over the hills. “But the summer at Schwartzberg, I should say, is very beautiful.”

Young Campe nodded.

“Yes,” said he, “it is. I have not spent such time here before now; but the pleasant months would be well enough—if there were nothing else.”

“Ah!” said Ashton-Kirk, “there are drawbacks, then. Nothing serious, I hope?”