Chapter X: The Rescued Man

ONCE asleep, after her long watch, Beatrice slept profoundly—slept till long after the rescue-party and the two Englishmen had come in.

There could be no question of getting back that night to Kandersteg. Ivor was suffering from frostbite and bruises; and though, with a good deal of help, he had managed to walk part of the way down to the Oeschinen Hotel, he could do no more. Both he and Rob had to be warmed and fed; and for both a good night's rest was the first essential.

Bee saw nothing of them until next morning, by which time she was quite restored to her usual gentle self. That evening talk outside the Hut seemed to her dreamy and unreal, and as if it had happened years before. She had almost lost sight of it, under the great strain of anxiety; and she could not think of it now, for the joy of knowing Ivor to be safe. For this her heart sang a ceaseless song of thanksgiving.

Or at least, she would not let herself think of it. Probably, as Amy insisted, he had heard nothing. If he had caught a few words—the only course for her was to be utterly simple, utterly natural, free from self-consciousness. Then he would forget; he would think himself mistaken. Bee was capable of carrying out this rôle; as perhaps many girls, less practised in self-control, might not have been.

Ivor appeared last of an early party. He came to breakfast limping, and still pale, but with a smile.

"All right, old fellow?" Rob asked.

"Thanks—yes." His glance went straight to Bee, and without hesitation he crossed over, holding out his hand. "We have met before," he said; for he, like Bee, had resolved on complete simplicity as the only mode of "grasping the nettle."

She met the hand and smiled bravely; and before a word could be spoken, Peter Steimathen, who had followed Ivor in, to see how the "Herr" might be after his severe experience, made matters easier for both by breaking in—

"It is to the Mees here that you owe your life, Mein Herr!" He glanced at Bee with admiration. "The Fräulein she would have her way! She would not return to Kandersteg, till she should see where the English Herren were. Myself I had told her there might be difficulties for the Herren, and the Fräulein understood. Ach, but had she not so done, we should not so soon have gone in search. Nein, truly we should not."

"And that must have meant for me—just all the difference!" Ivor observed in a low voice.

He was not allowed then to say more. Rob insisted on attention to breakfast. But Bee had already heard from the others what was thought of her share in the rescue; and her feelings may be easily imagined. From Ivor she wanted no thanks. It was enough, and more than enough, to know that she had been the means of saving his life—as they all declared was the case.

After breakfast, when Amy was putting up their things and Peter was consulting with Rob how to get Ivor to Kandersteg—since he was clearly unable to walk any distance—she found herself, quite by accident, alone with the latter.

Bee took it simply; and her complete naturalness made the position of affairs easy for him.

"I am afraid you are suffering a good deal with your foot," she said.

"Rather numb still, thanks; but I'm getting back the proper circulation. No fear now, they tell me, that I shall lose even a toe." He smiled; then, putting aside his own hurts, he expressed his gratitude, in a few strong words, for what she had done.

"Neither Royston nor I can ever forget it. We owe our lives to your thoughtfulness. I—even more than he. I suppose he might have got back in safety; but I was helpless."

"Would not the guides have started in search of you—if I had done nothing?"

"Yes. The question is—whether they would have been in time."

"I am very, very glad!" The words sounded absurdly inadequate. She had never in her life been half so glad, half so thankful; yet she spoke quietly. "It was curious—I could not help waiting. Such a strong feeling came that something was wrong—that I had to wait!—Even before it actually happened."

"One may say, I suppose, that it was—Providential!" He spoke with shy English reserve, yet with real feeling; and this time her response was eager.

"Oh, I am quite, quite sure!" After a pause she went on. "I don't understand why Mr. Royston stayed there. Ought he not to have gone at once for help? Suppose we had not seen you? Suppose the guides had not started when they did?"

"That was the question—what he should do. The shrund was in no state to be crossed, especially by one man alone. He would have had to go back up the mountain, and round by the usual route."

"Could he not do it?"

"The danger of course is greater for a man by himself. But he is a cool hand, not soon flurried. He would have gone in the morning, if help had not come. Nothing would induce him to budge earlier, though I did my best. I knew that putting off must make the return alone much worse for him."

"Then it was for your sake that he waited?"

"Entirely. I could not persuade him to leave me. It would have pretty well settled matters, I suppose, so far as I was concerned; and that was what he felt."

Bee's eyes grew large. "You mean that he—?"

"He had made up his mind that, if I had to spend the night there by myself, I should be frozen before morning."

"But was it—was it—so bad as that?" Her breath grew short.

"I'm not sure that I could have held out, if it hadn't been for him."

"The cold—?" murmured Bee.

"Well, the cold was awful. Sometimes I seemed to be on the verge of slipping out of it all—losing hold of life. And then Rob's voice would rouse me, and I could fight on. But if he hadn't been there—don't you see?"

"Yes, I see." Bee had grown white, but she spoke quietly. "You might have just forgotten yourself, and not—not—"

"Not come to again," ended Ivor. "Yes, that was it. But of course I'd have given anything to make him go. I knew what it must mean, waiting hour after hour on that steep slope, with no shelter of any sort. He's a fine fellow! I wish you knew him better."

"Perhaps I shall some day. His sister is a friend of mine. Yes, he must be—splendid!" So was somebody else, thought Bee, and she did not mind the little glow which had come to her face, for he would only think it was called up by admiration of Mr. Royston. "And then—" she said—"then, I suppose, you saw the guides coming. I mean, Mr. Royston saw them."

"Yes; and his shout soon let me know. He had just been saying he must start soon. After that it was all right. I only had to be hauled up. But you understand now how much we owe to you—both of us."

"Not Mr. Royston!"

"Yes, both of us. I very much doubt whether, after that night, he would have been equal to the return by himself. He found it quite enough, even with the help of a guide. So I think we may pretty well say that you have saved both our lives!"

"I've always longed to be able some day to save somebody's life," she replied gently.

Much more he could have told her, and did not.

He might have described at length that interminable night in his dreary bergshrund prison, where he dared not stir, for fear of falling yet lower. He had found a lodgment on a narrow snow-shelf at one side of the great cleft. Black depths of mystery lay below; and steep snow-walls rose high before and behind him; and the projecting upper "lip" of the shrund overhung his head; and nothing was clearly visible except a strip of sky far, far above. At any moment a fresh fall of snow might overwhelm him; and time crawled on with leaden footsteps, as he waited in his constrained position, suffering acutely from the piercing cold.

He could not see Rob. He was without food, without restoratives, and in hourly peril of death. Vainly, from time to time, he urged his friend to escape while escape was possible, and to leave him to his fate. Or rather—and he put this forward for Rob's sake—to get help. But he knew well that such help must almost certainly arrive too late; and Rob, knowing the same, always cheerily refused, bidding him keep up a brave heart.

Through it all Ivor could not banish Bee from his mind. He saw her face; he was haunted by her soft tones; he recalled little talks with her in the spring; he heard again Amy's utterance outside the Hut. The consciousness of what she possibly felt for him, and floating visions of what in some future day they might become one to the other, alternated with a picture of his life cut short, his career abruptly ended. And with this came self-searchings as to the manner of life he had lived; not indeed a blameworthy life, weighed in ordinary scales; yet not all that it should have been, weighed in loftier scales, seen in the near prospect of the Life to follow. It had not been an irreligious or a prayerless life; yet now, looking back, he felt how much had been wanting in it of whole-hearted devotion to the service of God; and keen regrets for the past mingled with strong resolutions for the future—if he should be permitted to get through safely.

As the fierce numbing cold of night enveloped him, creeping from limb to limb, stiffening every muscle, gripping his very bones, he could hear Royston far above, stamping, stirring, ever and anon shouting words of encouragement.

And once—never after would Ivor lose the impression made!—once, without warning or introduction, in strong distinct tones, Rob repeated the General Confession. Heart and soul Ivor joined in, echoing each familiar petition, and finding in them the full utterance of his own deepest need.

A slight pause at the end; and then the emphatic tones went on, in words equally familiar, declaring that, "HE pardoneth and absolveth!" Sentence by sentence came soon the Lord's Prayer; the evening Collects; the General Thanksgiving; and the Blessing.

This, Ivor thought, was the end of their strange Evensong—a service amid unwonted surroundings, and with an unwonted audience. Silence fell upon the icy scene; and he thankfully felt that it had done him good. Death indeed might lie ahead; near at hand! But there was ONE Who "pardoneth and absolveth all them that truly repent and unfeignedly believe!" The words gained a new power and depth for Ivor in that hour.

Rob had not done. His voice pealed forth anew; and now in song. Words and tune were alike well-known. But never before had they carried such meaning to Ivor, as when he heard them from the depths of his snow-cavern.

"O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come;
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our Eternal Home!"

No wonder, as verse after verse rang through the still night-air, and rolled over the snowy slopes, and echoed from the rocks, that they brought a sound of hope and promise for the unfortunate prisoner below. At the end, Ivor had difficulty in controlling his voice, to shout a hearty—"Thank you!"

No, he would never forget! An experience such as this leaves its stamp on a man for life!