CHAPTER XXIX

IN A HIGHLAND SNOWSTORM—HANS AND
BUFFLES LOST

Tr was the last evening the Count’s cosy caravan would
lie in the camp of the “Rover.” They had bivouacked
together for a whole fortnight, and now Savola must
make all speed southwards to Edinburgh. They had
important engagements to fulfil at that city, which the
Count had no intention of giving up. But after these
he would engage himself no more, but, turning to his
native land, take up the duties which the change in
his state of life would, for a time at all events, enforce
upon him.

Despite the fact that he had tried to keep his roman-
tic story secret, it had got bruited abroad, and there
seemed to be little doubt that greater audiences than
ever would now greet Savola as a singer, and the little
gipsy Countess as a mandolinist.

But everybody was sad to-night. There was no
shaking this depression off. There was no trying to
sing it or play it off. Parting was in store for them;
so at last musical instruments were put away, and they
were content to lie around the camp-fire on their rugs
and talk. Neeta lay near to Carleton, with her arms
round Lady Bute and nursing Kammy. Without

doubt that weird old-world reptile knew her, and
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