ice-steps like any tyro; Michel, on the other hand, would not believe
that he had fallen from the upper rocks of the Blaitière on the far side
of the Col. From these two disbeliefs his hope had sprung. It was
possible that either Lattery or his guide lay disabled, but alive and
tended, as well as might be, by his companion on some insecure ledge of
that rock-cliff. A falling stone, a slip checked by the rope might have
left either hurt but still living. It was true that for two nights and a
day the two men must have already hung upon their ledge, that a third
night was to follow. Still such endurance had been known in the annals of
the Alps, and Lattery was a hard strong man.

A girl came from the chalet and told him that his dinner was ready.
Chayne forced himself to eat and stepped out again on to the platform. A
door opened and closed behind him. Michel Revailloud came from the
guides' quarters at the end of the chalet and stood beside him in the
darkness, saying nothing since sympathy taught him to be silent, and when
he moved moving with great gentleness.

"I am glad, Michel, that we waited here since we had to wait,"
said Chayne.

"This chalet is new to you, monsieur. It has been built while you
were away."

"Yes. And therefore it has no associations, and no memories. Its bare
whitewashed walls have no stories to tell me of cheery nights on the eve
of a new climb when he and I sat together for a while and talked eagerly
of the prospects of to-morrow."

The words ceased. Chayne leaned his elbows on the wooden rail. The mists