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 waited on the brink of some unfathomable crevasse, and then we all three cowered together and peeped down; the sides were green and smooth and sinister, like a crack in the sea, but so close together that one could not have fallen out of sight; yet when Bob loosened a lump of ice and kicked it in we heard it clattering from wall to wall in prolonged diminuendo before the faint splash just reached our ears.  Mrs. Lascelles shuddered, and threw out a hand to prevent me from peering farther over.  The gesture was obviously impersonal and instinctive, as an older eye would have seen, but Bob’s was smouldering when mine met it next, and in the ensuing advance he left us farther behind than ever.  But on the rock where we had our lunch he was once more himself, bright and boyish, careless and assured.  So he continued till the end of that chapter.  On the way home, moreover, he never once forged ahead, but was always ready with a hand for Mrs. Lascelles at the awkward places; and on the way through the woods, nothing would serve him but that I should set the pace, that we might all keep together.  Judge therefore of my surprise when he came to my room, as I was dressing for the absurdly early dinner which is the one blot upon Riffel Alp arrangements, with the startling remark that we “might as well run straight with one another.”

“By all means, my dear fellow,” said I, turning to him with the lather on my chin.  He was dressed already, as perfectly as usual, and his hands were in his pockets.  But his fresh brown face was as grave as any judge’s, and his mouth as stern.  I went on to ask, disingenuously enough, if we had not been “running straight with each other” as it was.