“No, Lucy, because Satan does not exist. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. If he awoke and caught you at it, there might be a set-back. “What the devil do you mean by coming for me like that?” Ennison exclaimed, glowering down upon him. There was no railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees clamber among gigantic boulders. Especially when they wear cologne.
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