"That's just where she isn't!" exploded the Colonel. "I missed her at tea-time but thought she must be out. Now her brother tells me that he has been all over the place and can't find her. I suppose she can't be upstairs with your sister?" He turned to Scott.

"I'll go and see," Scott said. "She may be--though I doubt it. My sister was not so well, and so stayed in bed to-day."

He moved towards the stairs with the words; but ere he reached them there came the sound of a sudden commotion on the corridor above, and a wailing voice made itself heard.

"Miss Isabel! Miss Isabel! Wherever are you, mavourneen? Ah, what'll I do at all? Miss Isabel's gone!"

Old Biddy in her huge white ap.r.o.n and mob cap appeared at the top of the staircase and came hobbling down with skinny hands extended.

"Ah, Master Scott--Master Scott--may the saints help us! She's gone!

She's gone! And meself sleeping like a hog the whole afternoon through!

I'll never forgive meself, Master Scott,--never, never! Oh, what'll I do?

I pray the Almighty will take my life before any harm comes to her!"

She reached Scott at the foot of the stairs and caught his hand hysterically between her own.

Sir Eustace strode forward, white to the lips. "Stop your clatter, woman, and answer me! How did Miss Isabel get away? Is she dressed?"

The old woman cowered back from the blazing wrath in his eyes. "Yes, your honour! No, your honour! I mean--Yes, your honour!" she stammered, still clinging pathetically to Scott. "I was asleep, ye see. I never knew--I never knew!"

"How long did you sleep?" demanded Sir Eustace.

"And how am I to tell at all?" wailed Biddy. "It didn't seem like five minutes, and I opened me eyes, and she was all quiet in the dark. And I said to meself, 'I won't disturb the dear lamb,' and I crept into me room and tidied meself, and made a cup o' tay. And still she kept so quiet; so I drank me tay and did a bit of work. And then--just a minute ago it was--I crept in and went to her thinking it was time she woke up,--and--and--and she wasn't there, your honour. The bed was laid up, and she was gone! Oh, what'll I do at all? What'll I do?" She burst into wild sobs, and hid her face in her ap.r.o.n.

Two or three people were standing about in the vestibule. They looked at the agitated group with interest, and in a moment a young man who had just entered came up to Scott.

"I believe I saw your sister in the verandah this afternoon," he said.

"That's just what Rose said," broke in the Colonel. "And you wouldn't believe me. She came out, and Dinah went to speak to her. And now the two of them are missing. It's obvious. They must have gone off together somewhere."

"Not up the mountain. I hope," the young man said.

"That is probably where they have gone," Scott said, speaking for the first time. He was patting Biddy's shoulder with compa.s.sionate kindness.

"Why do you say that?"

"It's just begun to snow," the other answered. "And the mist up the mountain path is thick."

"d.a.m.nation!" exclaimed Sir Eustace furiously. "And she may have been gone for hours!"

"Miss Bathurst was with her," said Scott. "She would keep her head. I am certain of that." He turned to the Colonel who stood fuming by. "Hadn't we better organize a search-party sir? I am afraid that there is not much doubt that they have gone up the mountain. My sister, you know--" he flushed a little--"my sister is not altogether responsible for her actions. She would not realize the danger."

"But surely Dinah wouldn't be such a little fool as to go too!" burst forth the Colonel. "She's sane enough, when she isn't larking about with other fools." He glared at Sir Eustace. "And how the devil are we to know where to look, I'd like to know? We can't hunt all over the Alps."

"There may be some dogs in the village," Scott said. "There is certainly a guide. I will go down at once and see what I can find."

"No, no, Stumpy! Not you!" Sharply Sir Eustace intervened. "I won't have you go. It's not your job, and you are not fit for it." He laid a peremptory hand upon his brother's shoulder. "That's understood, is it?

You will not leave the hotel."

He spoke with stern insistence, looking Scott straight in the eyes; and after a moment or two Scott yielded the point.

"All right, old chap! I'm not much good, I know. But for heaven's sake, lose no time."

"No time will be lost." Sir Eustace turned round upon the Colonel. "We can't have any but young men on this job," he said. "See if you can muster two or three to go with me, will you? A doctor if possible! And we shall want blankets and restoratives and lanterns. Stumpy, you can see to that. Yes, and send for a guide too though he won't be much help in a thick mist. And take that wailing woman away! Have everything ready for us when we come back! They can't have gone very far. Isabel hasn't the strength. I shall be ready immediately."

He turned to the stairs and went up them in great leaps, leaving the little group below to carry out his orders.

There was a momentary inaction after his departure, then Scott limped across to the door and opened it. Thick darkness met him, the clammy darkness of fog, and the faint, faint rustle of falling snow.

He closed the door and turned back, meeting the Colonel's eyes, "It's hard to stay behind, sir," he said.

The Colonel nodded. He liked Scott. "Yes, infernally hard. But we'll do all we can. Will you find the doctor and get the necessaries together?

I'll see to the rest."

"Very good, sir; I will." Scott went to the old woman who still sobbed piteously into her ap.r.o.n. "Come along, Biddy! There's plenty to be done.

Miss Isabel's room must be quite ready for her when she comes back, and Miss Bathurst's too. We shall want boiling water--lots of it. That's your job. Come along!"

He urged her gently to the stairs, and went up with her, holding her arm.

At the top she stopped and gave him an anguished look. "Ah, Master Scott darlint, will the Almighty be merciful? Will He bring her safe back again?"

He drew her gently on. "That's another thing you can do, Biddy," he said.

"Ask Him!"

And before his look Biddy commanded herself and grew calmer. "Faith, Master Scott," she said, "if it isn't yourself that's taught me the greatest lesson of all!"

A very compa.s.sionate smile shone in Scott's eyes as he pa.s.sed on and left her. "Poor old Biddy," he murmured, as he went. "It's easy to preach to such as you. But, O G.o.d, there's no denying it's bitter work for those who stay behind!"

He knew that he and Biddy were destined to drink that cup of bitterness to the dregs ere the night pa.s.sed.

CHAPTER XX

THE VISION OF GREATHEART

The darkness of the night lay like a black pall upon the mountain. The snow was falling thickly, and ever more thickly. It drifted in upon Dinah, as she crouched in the shelter of an empty shed that had been placed on that high slope for the protection of sheep from the spring storms. They had come upon this shelter just as the gloom had become too great for even Isabel to regard further progress as possible, and in response to the girl's insistence they had crept in to rest. They had lost the beaten track long since; neither of them had realized when. But the certainty that they had done so had had its effect upon Isabel. Her energies had flagged from the moment that it had dawned upon her. A deadly tiredness had come over her, a feebleness so complete that Dinah had had difficulty in getting her into the shelter. Return was utterly out of the question. They were hopelessly lost, and to wander in that densely falling snow was to court disaster.

Very thankful Dinah had been to find even so poor a refuge in that waste of drifting fog; but now as she huddled by Isabel's side it seemed to her that the relief afforded was but a prolonging of their agony. The cold was intense. It seemed to penetrate to her very bones, and she knew by her companion's low moaning that she was suffering keenly also.

Isabel seemed to have sunk into a state of semi-consciousness, and only now and then did broken words escape her--words scarcely audible to Dinah, but which testified none the less to the bitterness of despair that had come upon her.

She sat in a corner of the desolate place with Dinah pressed close to her, while the snow drifted in through the door-less entrance and sprinkled them both. But it was the darkness rather than the cold or the snow that affected the girl as she crouched there with her arms about her companion, striving to warm and shelter her while she herself felt frozen to the very heart. It was so terrible, so monstrous, so nerve-shattering.

And the silence that went with it was like a nightmare horror to her shrinking soul. For all Dinah's sensibilities were painfully on the alert. No merciful dulness of perception came to her. Responsibility had awakened in her a nervous energy that made her realize the awfulness of their position with appalling vividness. That they could possibly survive the night she did not believe. And Death--Death in that fearful darkness--was a terror from which she shrank almost in panic.

That she retained command of her quivering nerves was due solely to the fact of Isabel's helplessness--Isabel's dependence upon her. She knew that while she had any strength left, she must not give way. She must be brave. Their sole chance of rescue hung upon that.

Like Scott, she thought of the guide, though the hope was a forlorn one.