spised, was depressed.

"Jolly party!" said Lancelot, really meaning it, and made Urquhart
laugh. But Lucy shuddered at such a laugh. She thought of the wolves
in the Zoological Gardens when at sundown they greet the night. It
made her blood feel cold in her veins.

"If no one's going to enjoy himself, why does anybody go?" she said at
a venture. James protested that he was going to enjoy himself
prodigiously. As for Lingen, he said, it would do him no end of good.

"I jolly well wish I could go," was Lancelot's fishing shot, and Lucy,
who was really sorry for Urquhart, was tempted to urge it. But James
would not have heard of such a thing, she knew.

Then they went, with a great deal of fuss and bustle. James, a great
stickler for the conventions, patted her shoulder for all good-bye.
Urquhart waited his chance.

"Good-bye, my dear," he said. "I've had my innings here. You won't see
me again, I expect. I ask your pardon for many things--but I believe
that we are pretty well quits. Trust me with your James, won't you?
Good-bye." He asked her that to secure himself against whims.

She could do no more than give him her hand. He kissed it, and left
her. The boat was pushed out. Urquhart took the helm, with Lancelot in
the crook of his arm. He turned once and waved his cap.

"There goes a man any woman could love," she told herself. If she had
a regret she had it not long. "Some natural tears they shed, but dried
them soon."

They made a good landing, bestowed their gear in a cart, and set out
for a long climb to Brattebo, which they reached in the late
afternoon--a lonely farm on the side of a naked hill. They slept
there, and were to rise at four for the snow-field.

CHAPTER XXII

CATASTROPHE

They were up and away before the light, taking only one guide with
them, a sinewy, dark man with a clubbed beard on his chin. If they had
had two it had been better, and Urquhart, who knew that, made a great
fuss; but to no purpose. All the men were at the saeters, they were
told; haymaking was in full swing out there. There was nothing to be
done. Urquhart was put out, and in default of another man of sense
made James his partner in griefs. "I know these chaps," he said. "When
they are alone they lose their heads. The least little difficulty,
they shy off and turn for home. I judge this man of ours to have the
heart of a mouse. He don't want to go at all. If there are two of them
they egg each other on. They