At last, with Armine's consent, or rather,
at his entreaty, Mr. Graham, though knowing himself a bad substitute,
took him from the arms of the outwearied lad, who, in five minutes
more, was lying, dressed as he was, in the soundest of dreamless
slumbers.
When he awoke, the sun was up, an almost midsummer sun, streaming on
the fast-melting snow with a dazzling brilliancy. Armine was panting
under the same deadly oppression on his pillows, and Mother Carey was
standing by him, talking to Mr. Graham about despatching a messenger
to Leukerbad in search of one of the doctors, who were sure to be
found at the baths. How haggard her face looked, and Armine gasped
out--
"Mother, your hair."
The snow had been there; the crisp black waves on her brow were quite
white. Jock had fallen into a sort of doze from exhaustion, but
moaning all the time. She could call him no better, and Armine's
sunken face told that he was worse.
John went in search of more hot water, and on the way heard voices
which made him call Mr. Graham, who knew more of the vernacular
German patois than himself, to understand it. He thought he had
caught something about English, and a doctor at Kandersteg. It was
true. A guide belonging to the other side of the pass, who had been
weather-bound at Kandersteg, had just come up with tidings that an
English party were there, who had meant to cross the Gemmi but had
given it up, finding it too early in the season for the kranklicher
Milord who was accompanied by his doctor.
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