Chapter II.—Beatrice's DiaryJuly 10th. I do not wonder it is three days since I have written a line, and even now I scarcely have the heart to take up my pen, for it is so dreadful to think that in the years to come everything will be down here in black and white, to recall what happened.
But whether I write or not we shall forget nothing, and all our lives the memory will remain with us that we have been accused of being murderesses.
Oh! that awful night, and the much more awful days that have followed!
And we had been so happy, too, up to then, and there had not seemed to be a single cloud in the sky. The ball had been such a great success, and in a few days we were going to town to help Eva choose her own trousseau.
Then, in a few hours, down came the avalanche, and we were hunted a
