r dreaded this evening."

Though what he said was true, it was half from pity that he said it. He
wished her to feel her value. And in reply she gave him yet another
glimpse into the dark place.

"Your friend," she said, "must have been much loved in Chamonix."

"Why?"

"So many guides came of their own accord to search for him."

Again Chayne's face was turned quickly toward her. Here indeed was a sign
of the people amongst whom she lived, and of their unillumined thoughts.
There must be the personal reason always, the personal reason or money.
Outside of these, there were no motives. He answered her gently:

"No; I think that was not the reason. How shall I put it to you?" He
leaned forward with his elbows upon his knees, and spoke slowly, choosing
his words. "I think these guides obeyed a law, a law not of any man's
making, and the one law last broken--the law that what you know, that you
must do, if by doing it you can save a life. I should think nine medals
out of ten given by the Humane Society are given because of the
compulsion of that law. If you can swim, sail a boat, or climb a
mountain, and the moment comes when a life can only be saved if you use
your knowledge--well, you have got to use it. That's the law. Very often,
I have no doubt, it's quite reluctantly obeyed, in most cases I think
it's obeyed by instinct, without consideration of the consequences. But
it _is_ obeyed, and the guides obeyed it when so many of them came with
me on to the Glacier des Nantillons."

He heard the girl at his side draw in a sharp breath. She shivered.

"You are cold?"

"No," she answered. "But that, too, is all strange to me. I should have
known of that law without the need to be told of it. But I shall not
forget it."

Again humility was very audible in the quiet tone of her voice. She
understood that she had been instructed. She felt she should not have
needed it. She faced her ignorance frankly.

"What one knows, that one must do," she repeated, fixing the words in her
mind, "if by doing it one can save a life. No, I shall not forget that."

She rose from the seat.

"I must go in."

"Yes," cried Chayne, starting up. "You have stayed up too long as it is.
You will be tired to-morrow."

"Not till to-morrow evening," she said, with a laugh. She looked upward
to the starlit sky. "It will be fine, I hope. Oh, it _must_ be fine.
To-morrow is my one day. I do so want it to be perfect," she exclaimed.

"I don'