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!