the whole affair. But I had now no
intention of getting out of the glacier expedition. I would not have
missed it on any account. Bob had brought that on himself.

And I daresay we seemed a sufficiently united trio as we marched along
the pretty winding path to the Findelen next morning. Dear Bob was not
only such a gentleman, but such a man, that it was almost a pleasure to
be at secret issue with him; he would make way for me at our lady's
side, listen with interest when she made me spin my martial yarns, laugh
if there was aught to laugh at, and in a word, give me every conceivable
chance. His manners might have failed him for one heated moment
overnight; they were beyond all praise this morning; and I repeatedly
discerned a morbid sporting dread of giving the adversary less than fair
play. It was sad to me to consider myself as such to Catherine's son,
but I was determined not to let the thought depress me, and there was
much outward occasion for good cheer. The morning was a perfect one in
every way. The rain had released all the pungent aromas of the mountain
woods through which we passed. Snowy height came in dazzling contrast
with a turquoise sky. The toy town of Zermatt spattered the green hollow
far below. And before me on the narrow path went Bob Evers in a flannel
suit, followed by Mrs. Lascelles and her red parasol, though he carried
her alpenstock with his own in readiness for the glacier.

Thither we came in this order, I at least very hot from hard hobbling to
keep up; but the first breath from the glacier cooled me like a bath,
and the next like the great drink in the second stanza of the Ode to a
Nightingale. I could have shouted out for pleasure, and must have done
so but for the engrossing business of keeping a footing on the sloping
ice with its soiled margin of yet more treacherous _moraine_. Yet on the
glacier itself I was less handicapped than I had been on the way, and
hopped along finely with my two shod sticks and the sharp new nails in
my boots. Bob, however, was invariably in the van, and Mrs. Lascelles
seemed more disposed to wait for me than to hurry after him. I think he
pushed the pace unwittingly, under the prick of those emotions which
otherwise were in such excellent control. I can see him now, continually
waiting for us on the brow of some glistening ice-slope, leaning on his
alpenstock and looking back, jet-black by contrast between the blinding
hues of ice and sky.

But once he