side-saddles. It was nearly half an hour past the appointment, and the
Denhams, who had retired at eight o'clock the night before in order to
be fresh for an early start up the mountain, had made no sign. Lynde
himself had set the lark an example that morning by breakfasting by
candle-light. Here were thirty minutes lost. He quickened his pace up
and down in front of the hotel, as if his own rapidity of movement would
possibly exert some occult influence in hastening the loiterers; but
another quarter of an hour dragged on without bringing them.

Lynde was impatiently consulting his watch for the twentieth time when
Miss Denham's troubled face showed itself in the doorway.

"Isn't it too bad, Mr. Lynde? Aunt Gertrude can't go!"

"Can't go!" faltered Lynde.

"She has a headache from yesterday's ride. She got up, and dressed, but
was obliged to lie down again."

"Then that's the end of it, I suppose," said Lynde despondently. He
beckoned to one of the guides.

"I don't know," said Miss Denham, standing in an attitude of
irresolution on the upper step, with her curved eyebrows drawn together
like a couple of blackbirds touching bills. "I don't know what to
do...she insists on our going. I shall never forgive myself for letting
her see that I was disappointed. She added my concern for her illness to
my regret about the excursion, and thought me more disappointed than I
really was. Then she declared she would go in spite of her headache...
unless I went."