He was an old traveller, and
though he would have preferred not to travel in a deluge, he disliked
Italy, as a country of sour wine, and would be glad to find himself
across the Alps. Moreover, he knew the decision of his master's
character, and, being a man of some ability and education, he took a
pride in the loftiness of the affairs on which Ashe was generally
engaged. If Mr. Ashe said that he
must get to Geneva the following
morning, and to London the morning after, on important business--why, he
must, and it was no good talking about weather.
They rattled off through the streets of Domo Dossola, Dell in front with
the driver, under a waterproof hood and apron, Ashe in the closed landau
behind, with a plentiful supply of books, newspapers, and cigars to
while away the time.
At Isella, the frontier village, he took advantage of the custom-house
formalities and of a certain lull in the storm to stroll a little in
front of the inn. On the Italian side, looking east, there was a certain
wild lifting of the clouds, above the lower course of the stream
descending from the Gondo ravine; upon the distant meadows and mountain
slopes that marked the opening of the Tosa valley, storm-lights came and
went, like phantom deer chased by the storm-clouds; beside him the
swollen river thundered past, seeking a thirsty Italy; and behind, over
the famous Gondo cleft, lay darkness, and a pelting tumult of rain.
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