He it was who uttered the "Hark," and added, "That is Chico!"
At first the tired, despairing guides did not hear, but going along
the road by the lake in the direction from which the sound came, the
prolonged wail became more audible.
"It is on the moraine," the men said, with awe-struck looks at one
another.
They would fain not even have taken John with them, but with a
resolute look he uttered "Ich komm."
Mr. Graham, an elderly man, not equal to a moraine in the snow,
stayed with the mother. He wanted to take her back to prepare for
them, as he said—-in reality to lesson any horrors there might be to
see.
But she stood like a statue, with clasped hands and white face, the
small feathery snow climbing round her feet and on her shoulders.
"O God, spare my boys! Though I don't deserve it-—spare them!" had
been her one inarticulate prayer all night.
And now—-shouts and yodels reach her ears. They are found! But how
found! The cries are soon hushed. There is long waiting-—then,
through the snow, John flashes forward and takes her hand. He does
not speak-—only as their eyes meet, his pale lips tremble, and he
says, "Don't fear; they will revive in the inn. Jock is safe, they
are sure."
Safe? What? that stiff, white-faced form, carried between two men,
with the arm hanging lifelessly down? One man held the smaller
figure of Armine, and kept his face pressed inwards.
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